


Winter

by terri_testing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terri_testing/pseuds/terri_testing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Snape saved Lily from Voldemort?  Wouldn’t Lily be appropriately grateful?<br/>Wouldn’t that be sweet?  </p><p>“but I am the place where<br/>all desires are fulfilled,<br/>I mean:  all desires.”<br/>Margaret Atwood, the Circe/Mud Poems, “now it is winter”</p><p>AU to canon, of course and directly AU to my story “Betrayals”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plans and Counters:  Harvest Season through Samhain, 1981

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warning: this one is ugly. Canon!Lily is someone who can hold grudges when she wants to, and this grudge is a doozy. And Severus’s behavior does not bear examination.
> 
>  
> 
> Some of the lines in Chapter One are lifted directly or adapted from Chapter Two of my “Betrayals”; some of the situations in Chapter Three are lifted from Chapter One of that work. If I’ve written well, you should be able to read this without the other. If I haven’t, let me know so I can rewrite.  
>   
> “Elle m’aime: un peu, beaucoup, a la folie, pas du tout!”  
> French daisy-petal chant. (She loves me: a little, a lot, to madness, not at all!) 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter epigraphs are all from Margaret Atwood, the Circe/Mud Poems, “now it is winter”. 
> 
> Now it is winter.  
> By winter I mean: white, silent,  
> hard, you didn't expect that,  
>   
> it isn’t supposed to occur  
> on this kind of island,  
> and it never has before
> 
> but I am the place  
> where all desires are fulfilled,  
> I mean: all desires.
> 
> Is it too cold for you?
> 
> This is what you requested,  
> this ice, this crystal
> 
> wall, this puzzle. You solve it.

_“you didn’t expect that, it isn’t supposed to occur”_

 

*

_One of the Marauders was a traitor.  The Dark Lord was closing in on the Potters._

 

Snape held Potter’s sneering face firmly at the top of his mind, hatred waving like a banner. 

The Dark Lord smiled indulgently.  “What, Severus, are you thinking of your reward?”

“I would never so presume, my Lord.  My Lord knows that the satisfaction of serving him well is all a loyal servant could desire.”

The Dark Lord’s smile sharpened.  “And—should a loyal servant—be _ordered_ to presume?” 

Snape shrugged.  “Never to presume, my Lord.  But you recall the points I made.  Despite my gaining Dumbledore’s trust, most of his Order still mistrusts me.  Marriage to a Mudblood would correct that in those who are given to idle prejudice.  The girl herself is a talented witch; turning her abilities to serve you would be useful.  No doubt my passion for revenge upon Potter will cool as it’s satisfied, but I trust I can tolerate a fiction of domesticity until the time comes when we may be open in our policies.  Her reactions may be fully assured by my potions.  However, I point out that the girl, like her husband, is a Gryffindor.  My Lord knows well they are given to tedious and pointless displays of valor.  Were my Lord to give her an option, she’d doubtless fling her naked body before her child’s.  No.  Better to stun her straight off and give her the potion; give her no chance to indulge in histrionics.  I can handle her later, when her will has died in grief.  Her, ah, naked body will serve a better purpose then.”  

Snape’s smile at the thought was caressing and malicious.  His tongue touched his lips briefly.

The Dark Lord met the smile with one of his own.  Snape stirred uneasily under the blazing regard and tried desperately to collect himself.  Red eyes smashed down on black.  Red eyes ripped across his mind and slashed through his strongest barriers.  Red eyes tore aside Snape’s hatred of Potter and found memories buried beneath:  a boy wanking, eyes closed, lips shaping a name.  A boy and a girl arguing about Mulciber and Potter.  A girl in a dressing gown, saying coldly, “I’m not interested.”  A _Prophet,_ whiskey-splashed, blurred, folded to an announcement; a voice exploding finally, “Potter?” as an arm swept a glass and a nearly-empty bottle off a kitchen table. 

Glass shards and firewhiskey on a floor.  Blood, red, where someone had cut himself on them.  Wetness on a face.  It might have been tears, by the stinging.  Or maybe more firewhiskey.  Hard to say.

Emotions, buried beneath the much-bannered hate, torn loose and exposed:  an old, helpless, foolish longing, mingled with fury and humiliation.     Desire for vengeance at rejection.  Desire.  Overlaid with new fury and fear, that her bloody foolish courage might destroy her.  Before Snape would have a chance to. 

Snape felt his eyes released; a laugh met him as the room returned.   “Why, Severus, how touching.  It seems that revenge against _Mr._ Potter is not your sole motivation.  Be sure I shall remember your… desires.”

 

And he would.  

 

But whether torture or self-interest would win out, Snape himself could not say.  

Lily or her child: either now might live.  Snape knew which one Lily would choose.  He knew which he would.  The choice between would now be made by a psychopath.  This was the most Snape could make himself give her.  Imagining her eyes if she survived, he knew that he should have done more.  But he could not.  

Not seal her death completely.  He could not make himself do that.

 

“My Lord, thank you.”  Snape bowed deeply, face white, and took his leave.

 

* 

Amidst the general celebration, one thin black-robed figure leaned against the wall.  When the Master finally gestured him to a private room, he moved with alacrity.  Once in, he knelt reverently and kissed the hem.  His eyes glittered through the mask.

“You may unmask,” his master said lazily.  “We are alone.”  

t would not do to betray eagerness, though his master must expect him to feel it.  Ordering him to unmask meant the Dark Lord wanted to read his face.  Snape disciplined himself and said smoothly, “It would be an impertinence to congratulate you, my Lord, for eliminating such a feeble threat.  Still, I may say that all who follow you must feel ourselves to be confirmed in our wisdom in doing so.  You hear the din outside.”  

The Dark Lord smiled slowly.  “You don’t inquire about Mrs. Potter, Severus.  Have you lost interest already in your prize?  Has my labor to reward you been at naught?”

Voldemort’s triumphant return had been enough answer already.  But it would never do to let that be known.  Snape bowed his head submissively.  “I feel sure that my Lord has done what best serves us all, and that he will let his servant know his further needs when he so chooses.” 

The Dark Lord laughed.  “Your bereft widow, Severus, is sadly in need of comfort.  I do hope that you shall provide it, as outlined.”

The young man’s dour face lit in a feral grin.   “My Lord knows well that I shall be happy to oblige—and am most grateful to my Lord for the opportunity.  And that I shall not neglect to turn this opportunity to our cause’s benefit.  Do you wish me to notify the old chess master that his baby king is dead and its mother needs to be recovered?  I should be happy to oblige you, after a moment to school my face and mind.” 

His master waved lazily.  “Eventually, Severus.  I replaced the house door, and she won’t wake for hours.  What, impatient to see the effects of your work?  And you such a master brewer, or so you aver; I’d expect you to display more confidence in your results.”

Snape straightened, smiling at his master.  “I am confident, my Lord.  Fully.  To some impatience, I do confess.  But as my role now calls for patience, or at least, inconspicuous stalking for some weeks to follow, I may as well start now.  On another matter, has my Lord considered how he may use his new-found reputation for mercy on mothers?" 

The Dark Lord frowned slightly.  “How so, Severus?”

“For play,” the young man smirked.  “You know my weakness, as some call it; or, as I prefer to call it, the subtlety of my taste:  that I find mental torment more delicious than physical.  You have surely observed a cat playing with a mouse: sometimes it allows the victim to think it might escape….   That, I confess, and the following moment when the paw comes down and the mouse freezes in fear, capture my imagination more than the crude disemboweling that follows.” 

The Dark Lord nodded, intrigued.

The young man continued, “So you see the opportunity here.    I assume you’ll kill the Longbottom family next?  So then, offer Mrs. Longbottom the same mercy you gave Mrs. Potter—but only if she steps aside and lets you kill her child.” 

Snape grinned again, uneven teeth glittering in the torchlight.  “She won’t, of course; she’s a Gryffindor too.  But that moment’s temptation, the thought that she might induce you to spare her should prove entertaining….” 

The Dark Lord laughed.  “You have a point:  offering victims an apparent escape can emphasize their, ah, reactions to their fate.   And an escape they can’t allow themselves to take—so that their fate is, in one sense, their own fault, and their own choice—such a delicate touch, Severus.  I shall consider this.  However, my reputation shall not be injured by Mrs. Potter’s survival.  She’s under the Imperius to kill Dumbledore.” 

The young man arched a brow and bowed in respect to his master. “Unlikely that he’ll be caught off guard, alas. But one must admire the scheme: an unimpeachable reason for her survival, should she in fact survive.”

 

*

 

“Lily.  Lily Potter.”  The gentle call came from a long distance.  Lily found herself curled, apparently on a settle, nowhere that she knew.  The voice… Professor Dumbledore’s?... called her name again.   Her eyes opened onto untwinkling blue ones, and memory returned in a rush.

 

_“Lily, take Harry and go!  It’s him!  Go!  Run! I’ll hold him off!”_

_“Avada Kedavra” was followed by a thud and then footsteps on the stairs._

_Her wand was downstairs in the kitchen holder where James liked her to leave it.  She had scrabbled, desperately piling her nursing chair and sundry boxes before the door in an attempt to barricade it…. But he hadn’t even bothered to Vanish her barricade, just swept the junk aside.   She had dropped Harry into his crib and pleaded, “Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”_

And then nothing.

 

She looked up at Dumbledore mutely.  His eyes confirmed her worst fears.  She shivered and let her head drop.  As she continued to shake, Dumbledore gently draped a black blanket over her.  No, not a blanket—a man’s wool robes…?  Not Dumbledore’s, either, somehow she could tell that.  How odd.  But they did warm her, and she needed warmth.  She huddled into them, nursing a fold to her face.  After a time, her shuddering abated enough for her to notice that Dumbledore was sitting next to her settle, and that he was patting her shoulder.  He looked like he would wait all the night with her.  It was odd that the scratchy, scented wool she clutched gave her more comfort than the headmaster’s continued presence.  

Observing her motion, Dumbledore spoke.  “Those are Severus’s robes; I thought you’d need something to keep you warm after such a shock.  He also gave me a potion for you, to help you, which I’ll give you presently.  But I thought I’d let you know that he’s thinking of you.  Worried for you.  Sorry for your pain.”

Severus?  Lily’s eyes widened.  She hadn’t spoken to him since that time he’d called her a Mudblood.  No, since the evening after, when he’d tried so clumsily to apologize.  When else had he ever apologized?  He must have really meant it.  And she’d refused to listen.  “You’ve chosen your way,” she had said, and flounced off in disdain.

 

But he hadn’t.  He must not have.  Or he had started to, and turned.  They had read the news in August that the headmaster had hired him for Hogwarts.    James and Sirius had returned sulky from the next Order meeting, muttering darkly about Dumbledore having been imposed upon.  Lily, rocking her baby, had been silent, prudently.  Silently, prudently, she had hoped that Dumbledore had been right, and that the graceless, brilliant, bitter, luckless boy she’d once known had found his way to something approximating a haven.

In the crashing waves of grief for her husband and baby, it was… distracting, gently so, to divert a little grief to her misjudgment of an old friend.  An old friend who still cared enough to want to help her.   Some part of her eased at the thought of his kindness.  He’d left something for her? 

Severus was here at Hogwarts, surely.  It was term, he must be here now; maybe he would come to see her?  Comfort her?  Lily stirred a little; she found regarding her only Dumbledore.  But Severus might come later ….  She snuggled a little more into the black robe, her eyes drifting closed.  It was so kind of Severus to have left this for her, to comfort her.  It smelled of potions ingredients a little, of something misbrewed, actually, and of something more personal.  How like him that his robes would smell of potions….

 

“Lily.”  The voice was imperative; thin fingers grasped her hand. 

Severus’s fingers were slender and nimble; she’d often watched his hands deftly moving in Potions class.  A few times she’d caught him in return watching her hands mix and stir and measure, his eyes a little too intent for comfort.  She’d always pretended not to have seen that.   

But these digits now were the bony, aged fingers of the headmaster.  Lily shook away her disappointment and tried to pay attention. 

“Lily.  This is the antidote Severus left with me, for the potions he brewed for Voldemort to give you after he stunned you.  I need to explain to you their plan, and what your options are now.” 

Her eyes opened wide; she flailed, sitting up.  Dumbledore’s eyes were grave.  “Severus has been a Death Eater for several years, a spy and other things for Voldemort.  He’s been a double agent for me and the Order for just under a year now, at great personal risk.  And I’m going to Obliviate you before this night is over to hide that information, but you need to know certain things to make your decision.  This is the plan regarding you….”

 

*

 

After a time Lily interrupted the headmaster.  “But how could Severus imagine—if he even ever said he wanted to do that—if he told You-Know-Who that he planned to give me cumulative potions to make me appear to fall in love with him naturally—I’m sorry, but Severus had more sense than that!  How could he possibly imagine he’d get away with dosing me repeatedly under my friends’ eyes?  One dose, two with luck, but repeatedly?  He had more sense than to think he’d get away with that!  And if he didn’t, You-Know Who would have pointed it out to him.  He couldn’t have imagined for a moment that he could make a plan like that work.” 

“Ah.  Well, I am afraid, Lily, that he had come up with a somewhat unique delivery method.  When I pressed him to explain that point, he said that he could encapsulate the doses, minimize them, hold them in his own mouth—and insert them by means of an apparent kiss.  Each dose would be mixed with a few seconds’ worth of Oblivio and with Tongue-Numbing Drops.  What the recipient—you—would experience would be a kiss, and then momentary confusion followed by a surge of feeling.  Not unnatural reactions to a kiss, and that a potion was responsible for the content, or some of the content, of the emotions felt would not be apparent even to the recipient.    What an outside observer would see would be a somewhat inappropriate method of consoling a widow.  Which if the widow herself did not object to, no one else had the right to.”

Lily stared at Dumbledore, chilled further.  She clutched the warm robes about her.  “Severus—” her voice came out as a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again.  “It seems to me that Severus’s initial plan might not have included that bit about your being cued to save me from the proverbial fate worse than death.”

“I had come to that conclusion myself, Lily.  However, I should mention that Severus approached me to defect within days of finding out that Lord Voldemort took the prophecy to refer to your family.  If he had entertained fantasies of using the situation to coerce you, they were apparently of short duration.” 

“It’s still sick,” Lily muttered, huddling further under the robes.  Wait.  Severus had defected to Dumbledore just after finding out… that she, that her family was targeted?  That was fairly obvious, wasn’t it?  She buried her face in the black wool, trying to think.

Dumbledore was silent, letting her process what she’d learned so far.  After a time she looked up at him, face strained.  “Why are you telling me this?  So, fine, You-Know-Who spared my life when he killed James, and, and, our baby… because he thought Severus was going to enslave me with his potions and turn me into a tool for them!  But Severus was really on our side so he set it up for you to protect me.  So fine.  But I’m not going to remember any of this; you’re going to Obliviate me!  So what is the point of your telling me this, putting me through this?”

She sat erect in her huddle of robes, eyes blazing.

Dumbledore faced her calmly.  “Because Severus didn’t think it through; he has a bit of a blind spot where you’re concerned, Lily.  He imagined that I could give you the antidote, keep you out of the way until the original potion would have worn off naturally, and that then you’d be safe.  Both from his, mm, purported schemes, and from Voldemort’s interest.  But the motive he’d displayed for Voldemort was that he wanted revenge against James, for their schoolboy enmity (and you have some sense now of how very deep that enmity went)—and revenge against you, pique if you will, that you threw him over for his enemy when he had a schoolboy crush on you.  Voldemort could well accept these as Severus’s motives and probe no deeper.   For so long as Severus acted in accordance with those supposed motives.

“However, the thirst for vengeance that Voldemort believes to drive Severus would not allow Severus to give up the first moment he was thwarted.  If you remain, Lily, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, you will by default sometimes fall into Severus’s path.  Indeed, I should imagine that infiltrating the Order might well be Severus’s next assignment.  But should you fall into Severus’s way, ever, Voldemort would expect him to implement the original plan, simply finding a way to re-dose you with the initial potion and go on from there.

“So we have a problem.  If Severus simply refuses to enslave you, Lord Voldemort will come to understand that Severus’s feelings for you are not restricted to revenge fantasies.  He may then apprehend that Severus’s loyalty to him is suspect.  If he ever realizes that—Severus will be tortured to death, probably quite slowly, and, incidentally, the Order will lose its best-placed spy.”

Lily shuddered and pulled the cloth to her breast, closing her arms around it protectively.  Severus tortured? 

“So we would have to keep you isolated from him, so that he simply has no opportunity to pursue you.  But if you are anywhere in Great Britain, keeping you strictly away from Severus would be both difficult and blatantly obvious.  Such stratagems would, at best, signal that my trust in Severus is compromised, reducing the value of his role.  At worst, they would lead Voldemort to pry into Severus’s loyalties, which would, as pointed out, quickly get Severus killed.  The only way to keep you away from Severus without compromising him is to send you out of the country.  I thought, perhaps, to Australia or Canada; we’d invent cousins that you would go to, your old life being destroyed.  That’s one of your two choices, Lily.  If that’s what you choose, I’ll Obliviate you, make arrangements, and you’ll be out of Scotland before the morning.

“Your other choice would allow you to stay in Great Britain, to stay working for the Order, to work for Voldemort’s downfall.  You would need to learn Occlumency; I think you show signs of good potential.  Eventually you might become a spy in your own right; immediately, you would provide cover for Severus, persuading Voldemort that Severus is truly his creature.

“That way… is to follow Severus’s original plan, the one he sold Voldemort on.  You would not remember this night; you would awake, tomorrow, subject to the effects of Severus’s potions.  He would come to visit, to comfort you; you would accept his comfort.  Comfort would quickly turn to courtship, and you would accept that too.  Soon you would imagine that you loved him.  Meanwhile you would be learning Occlumency.  As soon after your marriage as you have sufficiently mastered Occlumency, your memories would be restored, Severus’s antidote administered, and you would understand why you had subjected yourself to this indignity.”

Lily stared at him, her arms tightening around the wool.  She lowered her head, huddling again in her seat.  Dumbledore couldn’t be saying something like this.    She felt cold and dizzy with shock; she pulled the warm robes closer around her.

Dumbledore’s voice floated unperturbed above her head, “I shouldn’t imagine you would need to stay married to him for more than a few months, Lily.  Severus’s supposed motivation is pique and revenge; once that desire were satisfied by your submission, it would be understandable if his interest in you cooled.  And as your own apparent emotions would be the product of his potions, he could readily engineer that you should find yourself mistaken, as so often happens in a rebound match.  An ex-wife of Mudblood extraction, providing her origin were not the reason for the breakup, would still provide cover for a Death Eater spy.  She still proves that the former husband is not a proponent of Blood prejudice.  And Severus would already have discovered, and shown Voldemort, that he had, ah, overestimated your abilities in his earlier infatuation, and that you’re of no especial use in yourself. 

“Those are your choices, Lily.  Leave this island, or let Severus seduce and marry you for a time, as a cover for his spying.  Don’t choose lightly.”

 

Lily gaped at Dumbledore.  What kind of choices were those?    He looked back at her gravely, unembarrassed, and handed her a phial.  “Drink this now.  This is the antidote Severus gave me for the preliminary potion which Voldemort forced on you while you were unconscious.  Severus expected me to give you this antidote the moment you awoke.  I did not, because I wanted you to experience what it would be like to be under his potions’ influence.  If you choose the second option you’ll spend a month or two, possibly more, in which your emotions and your thoughts are not fully your own.  You need to understand this.  Do you realize, Lily, that every time something has exacerbated your distress tonight, you’ve hugged Severus’s robes for comfort?  They smell of him:  that’s the cue that his potions make you respond to.” 

She thrust the robes hastily away from herself and instantly felt bereft.  She suppressed an urge to pull them back to her; instead she shivered.  She downed the contents of the phial in one gulp; after a second the world crashed back with a different focus.

_Harry.  James.  Oh, god.  Gone._

_And I’ve been worrying about_ Severus _all this time? What have I been thinking?_   She pushed the robes to the floor and shuddered in revulsion.  Lily rocked herself, staring at Dumbledore.  There was no comfort anywhere.  James was dead.  Harry was dead.  There was no point to anything.

 

Voldemort had killed them, and had spared her so that she could _serve_ him.  Emerald eyes flamed.

 

Dumbledore watched and saw her stiffening.  “There is one more thing you need to know, Lily.  Voldemort’s agent, the one who overheard the Prophecy which Voldemort interpreted as pointing to your Harry… was Severus.  He was the one who relayed it.  A fact which I believe, which I am sure, Severus has long regretted bitterly.”

 


	2. Punishment:  The Feast of All Saints (11-1-1981)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily is determined to punish Severus for saving her.

_“By winter I mean white, silent, hard”_

 

Snape huddled in his dungeon quarters, waiting.  Surely by now Dumbledore would have given her the antidote and sent her on to some haven?   Surely soon he’d come to tell him that it was done and Snape free of his imprisonment? 

What was the old punch-line?  “Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust you!”  Snape had no reason to trust himself; he’d insisted that Dumbledore cast wards around his rooms that overrode his own.  No stranger could get in without Snape’s leave, as always, true; but equally, no one, especially Snape himself, could enter or exit without the headmaster’s consent.  So Snape couldn’t give in to temptation and trigger the potions’ effects.   

Not that he’d try.  He must not see her.  He must not touch her.  He must not come close to her in her grief.  He wouldn’t try.  But if he did try, if he tried his hardest, she would still be safe.  Nothing he could do now could harm her further.

Snape huddled in his dungeon, waiting.  How was she?  He’d never see her again.  She’d be gone before he’d be let out.  But she’d be safe.  Surely Dumbledore would find her a safe haven soon, and let him know…?

So Snape was wholly unprepared when Fawkes blazed crimson-and-gold in his sitting room with Lily holding to his tail.  Lily let go the tail, looking startled, and Fawkes was gone.

Leaving Lily on her arse in Snape’s sitting room with no way for either of them to get out again.  Snape did instantly try the expedient of backing through the wall.  It didn’t work. 

He then tried shutting his eyes, but Lily was still there on his floor when he opened them again.

 

"Lily,” Snape stammered, trying to find another word.  Other words rampaged through his mind: drugged, potions, helpless, rape.  Snape’s eyes widened in horror.  “Dumbledore was supposed to give you the antidote!  Why haven’t you had it?”

Green eyes met his coolly.  “I’ve had it.  And Dumbledore explained what it was for.”

“Why are you here, then?  You’d only want to see me if, if….”   

His eyes shut involuntarily.  He couldn’t say it. 

He could.  He could speak of what he’d done to her.  He owed her that at least. 

Snape stammered, “If you, you hadn’t had the antidote to the poisons I gave the Dark Lord.  Didn’t Dumbledore tell you?  He promised me he’d tell you!  He promised me he’d give it to you, before you could feel anything…!”

Lily got up, dusting off her arse, looking shaky but determined. “We need to talk, Severus.” 

At that threat, Severus’s mind cleared sufficiently to let him test the wards. Dumbledore’s were intact outside his own. He was truly trapped with her.

Lily was clutching a too-large dark robe about herself; after a moment, Snape identified it as identical to the one he was wearing. His eyes spotted a stain on the lower right hem: in fourth-year Potions class, yesterday, some Hufflepuff dunderhead had let his cauldron boil over, and Snape’s robes had been stained before he could Evanesco the mess. 

He had put it in the laundry for the house-elves to clean.

Snape had worn it. It was imbued with his sweat, his scent. By Merlin and Nimue, what had Dumbledore been playing at?

Severus rocked back against his dungeon wall.

Lily looked at him coldly. “I have to know, Severus. Could you have saved James instead of me, or James and me both? Or Harry? Could you have saved my baby?”

Snape pressed his cheek against the rough stone wall, hard enough to grate. “James alone… not likely, but maybe. As a joke, as a form of torture. I could have told the Dark Lord that surviving when you two died would hurt James worse than dying himself, but… the Dark Lord probably would have considered that game too dangerous to play. Leaving someone alive with that kind of grudge.  

“Leaving you alone alive, well, he thought … that I was going to control you, so it didn’t count. You both—no, I can’t think of any story that I could have made the Dark Lord buy, to spare you both. The baby—your baby.” 

His breath stopped. He forced himself to continue. “The baby was the target, the one the Dark Lord thought the primary threat, so there’s nothing that I could have said that would have made him willing to spare him.”

Lily would almost certainly fail to note that Snape’s last statement didn’t directly answer her question. Not bad at all for an impromptu effort under pressure. 

He didn’t want to lie to her outright.  He damned sure didn’t want to tell her the truth:    _I chose your life over your baby’s, knowing that you’d choose his._

Lily watched him, emerald eyes unblinking. “Dumbledore told me you gave the prophecy to You-Know-Who. And then were horrified when it pointed to us, and tried to save me.   Is that true?”

Severus leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. “Close enough. I didn’t—the part I heard said something about someone ‘approaching’, not a babe unborn. I don’t know how the Dark Lord figured out it meant a baby, I didn’t know it meant a baby!—I—least of all yours. I didn’t know, Lily, if I’d known I would have… ” 

Words died in his throat. He would have died instead, but he had no right to say so. He’d been so triumphant the night he’d heard it, gloating that Dumbledore wouldn’t have the nerve to kill him outright.

 He would have turned his own wand on himself instead. He should have. Why hadn’t Dumbledore killed him then, before he could harm her? 

Too late now. His death now would serve nothing, would remove even the remotest chance of undoing any part of what he’d done. If only he’d died then, in time. Severus pressed against his wall, eyes closed.

Lily stormed over, grabbed his chin, and yelled in his face, “Look at me, goddamnit!” Snape flinched back, opening his eyes again, to see his Lily’s face transformed by fury.

She was right, of course; it was the least of what he deserved, to see Lily in her agony.

She hissed, “I think you should be rewarded for saving me by getting what you wanted, Sev.”

Severus was confused. What he wanted? 

What he wanted was to be dead, and none of this to be. It was too late, over a year too late, to want that.

Lily smiled, and Snape finally understood her. Dumbledore really had explained.

Snape stepped back a pace. 

“Lily, I… if that had been what I really wanted, would I have—”

Severus stopped.  _Risked my life for nearly a year, betrayed my other friends, been tortured, to try to keep this night from happening?_  

He could say none of that to her.  She owed him nothing.  Severus tried again.

“If that had been what I’d really wanted, I wouldn’t ever have come to Dumbledore. You know that, if you know anything. If Dumbledore explained at all.”

She conceded the point with a wave of her hand, but her eyes remained hard. “You’re still responsible. It was your choice.” 

His choice. That was truer than he hoped she’d ever know. “Lily… Mrs. Potter. I don’t understand at all what you’re thinking.”

“No.  You don’t understand.  Dumbledore explained it to me.  _You’re_ his spy, one of his most useful tools in this war.  There’s nothing I can do, returning to active duty in the Order of the Phoenix, that others aren’t doing better.  You’re different.  Preserving your cover, keeping you in good with You-Know-Who so you can sneak us back good information, is worth almost anything.  The Order and the Aurors haven’t been able to sneak in any other spies among the bonded Death Eaters, you know.  They’ve lost everyone they’ve tried.  So you’re unique.  We have to keep you.

“But if I stay here in England, and you don’t seem to work your perverted scheme on me, that blows your cover. If I’m here, and you don’t enslave me like you said you would, he’ll start distrusting you. So Dumbledore gave me a choice: leave England, so you have a legitimate excuse for never seeing me again, or stay here and have you work your original plan. I prefer to play a part in bringing down the wizard who killed my husband and son, so I choose to stay. Dumbledore will Obliviate me, he’ll redose me with the potion you gave Voldemort, and we’ll go from there.” 

Her safety was what he had worked for, the one thing he had begged for; he had entrusted it to Dumbledore. She couldn’t throw it away now. He stared at her, dazzled. “Lily, no.”

“My most useful role to start with is adding to your cover. Won’t You-Know-Who be suspicious, if you fail of your long-cherished plan? And then once I’m accepted as your puppet wife, I can start working on my own. Yes?” 

He shook his head, mute and desperate.

She said fiercely, “The alternative is exile for me, and I’m not going to sit uselessly in Australia when I could be doing something to fight. It’s not your choice, Severus: it’s mine, and I’ve chosen!”

“Li—Mrs. Potter. You haven’t the least idea what this would entail. You would—my potions would make you—feel things you don’t feel. Things you would never want to feel. You—I don’t want to—you don’t understand what this would involve!”

She smiled at him again, green eyes narrowed in rage. “Oh, Dumbledore made sure I did. He didn’t give me your antidote for quite a while, you know. Until I’d had it, I clutched your fucking laundry to me like it was my one hope of heaven. Here!” She tore off the black robe and flung it at his head. “That’s how I’ll be, won’t I? Clinging to you, helplessly? Not remembering you’re the one who made this happen? Yes, I know!”

She stepped back a pace, the black robe puddled between them. “Or do you mean, understand what this would involve for _you_? Having me cuddle up to you, happy to see you, letting you comfort me, letting you kiss me—and you knowing it was all false, all manufactured, and that if I knew the truth I’d hate you? Yes, Sev, I think I understand fairly clearly what this would involve for you.”

Lily smiled again, and Severus went cold. Colder. 

He said desperately, “Li—Mrs. Potter. If you want, if you want, to work against the Dark Lord. This isn’t necessary. You don’t have to betray your, James, your husband.   If you think you have to, to, support my pretence, you can, you can pretend…” He had backed up several steps, the rock walls scraping against his face.

“There are other ways, L—Mrs. Potter. Better ways. We don’t have to use the potions, we don’t have to, to really do it. We can pretend, you can pretend, you don’t have to make me do it—” 

He had no more breath, somehow, none, wasn’t that odd?

Mrs. Potter.

He had known for years now. Nothing to hope for.

So shouldn’t he be used to it?

Leaf-green, sea-green, emerald-green; Lily’s eyes had always shifted with the light, and with her feelings. Now they were stony, dead.   As empty as his black ones.  

_Not dead, please no._

_Please no._

_Let her be alive._

_Only that._

 

There had been nothing left to hope for, only that.

His hands clenched.

She said heartlessly, “I’m not that good an actress, and I’m not an Occlumens at all. Dumbledore explained it: if we strip my memories into a Pensieve, the remnants in my mind will carry little emotional import, so I can be Obliviated of them without much damage. Then, once I’ve learned Occlumency, they can be restored. And I can be a spy, and work more—seriously—for his downfall. Do you think I want anything else? _Severus??”_

Severus shook his head mutely, closing his eyes.

_Please no.  Not dead.  Only that._

A pre-Raphaelite painting Severus had once seen of _La Belle Dame sans Merci_ swam into his mind: wild auburn hair, sweet features, pitiless eyes fastened on her doomed knight. 

Severus’s eyes squeezed further shut. “Lily. Please. No.”

“Do you claim you don’t deserve this punishment?”

“I… don’t claim that, no. Lily, please, no…” He was whispering now in anguish.

Lily’s voice was soft and even. She said,   “You had it all planned out. Dumbledore explained it. You do have the potions you thought of, Severus? You made them, didn’t you?”

Black eyes opened wide; he stared at her, cornered, “I… I had to brew some of them; the Dark Lord had to see in my mind that I had brewed them, for him to believe me serious!”

She smiled at him. “And you were serious, weren’t you, Severus?”

“No. I refused. I—that’s why I went to Dumbledore last year!”

“But that didn’t work, and now we’re trapped.”

Trapped. Severus said desperately, “No. I refuse.” 

Lily explained patiently, “This is my best chance for revenge, and you won’t deny it to me.”

_Let her be alive.  Only that._

Lily’s eyes were lifeless, dark. Severus stared at her, appalled.

She sat down calmly on his sofa. “This is how it’s going to be, Severus.”

And it was.


	3. Occlumency Lessons:  Towards the Solstice (November 1981)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily lets an old friend make her feel better.

_“this is what you requested”_

Lily groaned and woke. Where was she? Memory returned in a rush. She clutched the black robes to her and began to weep in earnest.

Hogwarts Castle was huge; Dumbledore said she should stay there until things were sorted. She’d been put under the Imperius, apparently; her memories of that part trailed away like smoke. Everything floated, a bit, nothing was real. The most real thing, save her tears, was the wool of the robes she’d woken clutching. They were unyieldingly heavy and black, annoyingly scratchy, and they smelled slightly of a badly-brewed batch of one of the anti-venoms.

Real too was the robes’ owner, also dark, unyielding, sometimes annoying, and smelling of potions. Unique among the drifting people trying to console her, he didn’t mouth platitudes. He sat next to her heavily and said, “I won’t pretend to be sorry about James; we never could stand each other. But I’m very sorry for your pain, and about… about the baby. I’m so sorry about that, Lily.”

She had turned into his thin form and started crying. She was vaguely surprised when her old friend put his arm stiffly around her. Eventually his other arm encircled her when she still couldn’t stop. He didn’t seem perturbed when she finally choked off her sobs and raised her face to thank him.

He wasn’t perturbed by her outburst, no. But when she was able to focus on his face, he looked—tired. Strained. As though he were as exhausted as she felt. She hid her face against his chest again, involuntarily. His just holding her… helped somehow. She sighed against him, moving her face to his shoulder.

“Here.” He dislodged her to offer a handkerchief. One of his own, it must be; the white lawn was embroidered sombrely in black. She smiled involuntarily at the conceit and froze: her first smile, since.

He caught her reaction. He always caught things, always. His hand reached up, gently, to brush the handkerchief over her tears and snot. The handkerchief vanished; another appeared, slightly damp, with a Cooling Charm cast over it. It passed softly over her swollen eyes; she smelled heart’s-ease, and something else. He’d wet it in some decoction for her comfort.

He still said nothing.

She subsided again against his shoulder. Today he smelt of the ingredients for Complicio, how odd. That one was restricted; he wouldn’t be teaching it even to the seventh years.   They had broken the rules together just checking it out, their fifth year. She was so tired. She nestled against him, relaxing, absorbing his scent.

 

*

Her jagged fits of crying tended to discomfit most people; only Severus took them in stride. Odd, since he was the last person most people would look to for comfort. Which just showed how blind most people were. His hands were gentle on her hair; his arms cradled her tenderly against him. When she broke down, as she did almost daily, he took her aside and held her until she was calmer.

Twice today; once at tea-time, when her guest, a former housemate, had proudly mentioned her newborn; and just now, when Professor McGonnagall—Minerva, she’d asked Lily to call her—mentioned the Gryffindor Quidditch team. James had talked so often of his hopes that Harry would be a Quidditch player for Gryffindor. 

She shouldn’t cry so much; she should be stronger. But Severus didn’t seem to mind holding her. She rubbed her face against his shoulder, settling finally again at the juncture of his slight torso and his arms. His muscles were stringy but strong from all that potions-stirring. Severus’s hands slid through her hair. Long, strong fingers started massaging her scalp; she sighed, relaxing, turning her face more deeply against him. The hands moved, cradling her head. Her arms came up around him, and she let herself drift. After some time her tears stopped leaking, but she continued to breathe against him, accepting his hands’ touch and his embrace.

She felt much better now, less exhausted.

Less exhausted? Lily blinked against Severus’s chest. She might have been pulling energy from him without being aware of it. That could be magically dangerous, draining, if it went on too long; she’d been taught that. She drew back a little to look at Severus. He wasn’t angry at her for exploiting him, and he definitely didn’t look drained. He looked feverish, if anything, faintly flushed; his eyes were black, huge, fixed on hers.

His hands came up and cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her jaw and cheeks. He dipped his head, holding her eyes. His lips moved on hers; her mind hiccupped, and then several different feelings surged through her at once. The acceptable ones, the ones she preferred to focus on, were grief at having to reject him and fury at his putting her in that position. She stiffened in his arms, energized.

Severus pulled away, saying it first. “Lily, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—it’s too soon—I know I shouldn’t have….” He stopped with a short laugh.  He looked a little crazy. “I’m an idiot. I know I shouldn’t have. I do know better. Lily, you trust me, don’t you?” She nodded mutely, but then lifted her chin and shook her head at him challengingly. He answered the second gesture with another wry laugh. “I know. I know. I shouldn’t have. I’m an idiot.” 

He reached out cautiously and pulled her back chastely into his arms. Lily closed her eyes and buried her nose against him again, willing the wrongness not to have happened. Not a kiss, not so soon: she was a widow! He said, his deep voice vibrating against her whole body, “Lily, please trust me. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want. I just want—to hold you, to comfort you, to make you feel better. Let me. Please.”

 Yes, that was better. Not anything inappropriate. She sighed and let herself snuggle closer, breathing him in. One long hand tangled in her hair, tilting back her head so she was staring into those black eyes, still huge and fixed. He murmured, “Let me. Please. Let me hold you, let me comfort you; let me make you feel better. Lily, let me; promise me you’ll let me.” His eyes were wide, almost fearful; she nodded mutely again, and he folded her against him. His hand moved lazily over her shoulders, his face rubbed gently against her hair. She pressed against him, inhaling him, her body easing at his touch. Trust filled her.

 

*

Dumbledore had started teaching her Occlumency, and Severus too.   Dumbledore seemed to think it was important, though he wouldn’t tell her why; he gave her a lesson every few days, fitted randomly into his schedule.  Severus worked with her almost every evening after dinner, alone in his office.   No one would disturb them then, unlike during meals and Severus’s official office time, when others might demand attention.  She didn’t understand why Dumbledore was so insistent she needed to learn this, but the lessons were a good distraction from her grief.  Both wizards were good teachers in different ways, though Lily suspected that she didn’t fight Severus’s intrusions as hard as she might have another’s.  _Clear your mind_ , they both insisted.  She had to push aside her grief to do so.  She was glad to have that excuse. 

If she understood how this process worked, Severus, unlike Dumbledore, was trying to steer his… incursions… away from her marriage. But that was hardly possible, since it was so large a part of her recent life.

Several times she had come to herself after reliving a scene from her life with James to see Severus white and silent. By now she had figured out why that was: how stupid she had been at sixteen. But his reactions sometimes seemed a bit off: jealousy, yes, she’d expect that now, but why sorrow and anger? But Severus was very hard to read; no doubt she was misinterpreting.

When she fell from the force of a memory or from one of her clumsier efforts to defend herself, Severus helped her up off the floor with gentle hands. Sometimes his hands lingered to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears or to brush dust off her robes.   

Learning Occlumency also helped her to understand Severus better, though that couldn’t have been Dumbledore’s intention. Dumbledore had explained to her that Severus was a natural Occlumens: that meant, apparently, one taught first by life rather than through lessons. Holding part of the mind, part of the heart, separate; letting some parts _show_ and not the rest. Clearing one’s mind of emotions one couldn’t afford to show or to acknowledge. Having too many truths, and hiding some behind the others.

Really, it seemed to Lily, it was simply lying, but inside oneself instead of aloud. Remembering Tobias Snape and Eileen, Lily could well imagine that Severus would have picked up these practices “naturally”. An averted gaze, certain inquiries averted. She burned with re-opened questions, but of course she could not ask him. He would never give her the answers, no more than he’d answered her naïve questions when she was a girl. Her questioning had probably caused him pain, back then; she couldn’t compound it now. 

_“They’re not arguing anymore?”_ How it must have hurt Severus when Lily had pushed him about that!

And Lily didn’t really need to ask now. Almost everything was obvious, if unstated, if she thought about it. 

She remembered a boy’s hands tearing leaves apart. Severus’s hands had always showed, always, what his face refused to reveal.

And his hands now, always, any time she saw them, were either stroking her gently or clenched in pain. His hands were easy enough to read, though she would never let him know that. Severus’s hands were only ever at ease now when they touched her. And not always even then.

 

*

Lily had thought she had made her position clear. Some things were not allowed. But then Severus kissed her again another time after she’d been crying in his embrace, and then again after one of their Occlumency lessons.

She needed to address this.

It was wholly inappropriate. She was a widow. She shouldn’t even think about anyone else for her year of mourning.

She needed to explain to Severus that this could not happen, could not be allowed to happen.

Lily rubbed her face against Severus’s chest, breathing his scent, gathering the strength to try to explain to him. His arms tightened, holding her protectively. She could feel his breath in her hair. One of his hands slid up; the other still held her against him, the fingers moving slightly in circles on the small of her back. Lily sighed as the upper hand found her hair. One long finger teased the hair away from the outer curve of her ear and started to stroke. Lily moved a little at the touch.  

She needed to explain, she had to explain, she was ready to explain, but before she could start, Severus murmured, “I know it’s not like it was with your husband.  I know you’re just indulging me. A minor indulgence, a kindness, because you’re grateful for my kindness to you. I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

What she liked to tell herself; increasingly less true. His lips were thin, soft and very warm. Lily arched in his arms; her mind went white for a moment.

Severus was whispering, “I know it’s just gratitude. I know you’re just being kind. I know it doesn’t mean anything; I don’t expect anything from you. Lily, please, just let me… Just a little. Just a little.”

 Just a little. It didn’t mean anything. It would be cruel to deny him, and she didn’t want to be cruel. Severus was kind to her, so kind; she needed to be kind back.   She pushed herself against him, just a little more, unthinkingly. She tilted her head, letting her lips open to his again. His hand gripped the back of her neck, and she felt the accustomed rush of warmth. It was inappropriate, yes, but it was so small a thing to give him. She let him kiss her again, the rush intensifying. His body was shaking a little, his hands moving with increasing urgency. He wasn’t expecting anything more. She looked at him, her eyes a little wild.

Such a little thing, letting him kiss her. She pressed against him, allowing one more kiss.

*

No. Not again tonight. This was getting out of hand. 

“We shouldn’t,” Lily faltered. “This is too much. It’s too soon. James ...”

“But you promised, Lily. You promised me.” Severus’s eyes glinted, holding hers.

Severus’s lips were so warm; she found the will to push him away afterwards, but she was laughing helplessly too at the outrageousness of his claim. He was smiling in return, and she hadn’t pushed him as hard as she’d thought. In fact, she was gripping the collar of his robes rather tightly. His hands were at her waist, long fingers lightly stroking. Lily laughed again, dizzily, clutching him to keep her balance.

“I never, I never promised to…to kiss you! You lie, Severus!”

“But you did, Lily. You promised to let me hold you; you promised to let me comfort you; you promised to let me make you feel better. Don’t you remember?” He grinned, black eyes glittering. 

She had promised that, well sort of, she had nodded when he had said it, she did remember. She nodded again involuntarily. But that wasn’t a promise to—his mouth was against hers again, interrupting her thoughts. 

“You promised, Lily. Isn’t it right to keep your promises?”

It was right to keep one’s promises. One was supposed to keep one’s promises. That was the right thing to do. The rightness of keeping promises coursed through her slight frame. She had promised Severus…. what had she promised him?   She would have collapsed if Severus weren’t holding her, helping her stay upright. His arms cradled her, so nice of him. She had to keep her promises.

She leaned against him and whispered, “What did I promise, Sev?” Dazed green eyes fixed on the black ones.

He breathed, “You promised to let me hold you.” His mouth was soft again against hers. Yes. Yes. She had promised that.   She had to let him do this. Her body relaxed against his, feeling the rightness of it.

He murmured, “You promised to let me comfort you, and this is comforting.” Yes, his mouth on hers, his taut body against hers, was all the comfort that she knew. She had promised to accept it.

He purred, “You promised to let me make you feel better. And this feels better.” His lips again, first on hers, then moving down along her throat. His hands were moving now, too, touching her freely, as he had never done before. She had promised to let him make her feel better. Better, this felt better, so good. The sweetness filled her. 

She had promised. It was right, so right, to keep her promises. Lily’s eyes drifted shut; she let her head fall back, granting Severus’s sweet mouth, his avid lips, access to the pulse point in her throat.   

“I have to keep my promises….”

 

Had she said that? She was lying on a sofa somehow. Severus didn’t have a sofa; he must have transfigured something. It was so easy to lie on it, accepting.   Severus’s face was suspended over her, a mask fixed and strained. “Lily. Promise me. Say it again. You promise—” 

She shook her head, trying to clear it. He leaned down and kissed her. “It’s right to keep your promises. You promised… Say it!”

It was right to keep her promises. This felt right. “I promise to let you hold me.” Severus kissed her; her body moved, fitting itself against his.

“I promise to let you comfort me.” Severus kissed her; her eyes widened as the comfort she’d been gaining from his presence, the sense of warmth and protection, washed over her like the sea. She floated in it. 

“I promise to let you—make me feel better.” Severus kissed her, his arms tightening; pleasure shook her body.

“It’s right to keep your promises, Lily. And it pleases me that you do. You want to please me, don’t you? You’re grateful for my kindness? You trust me?” He was kissing her, over and over, and everything he said was true, and growing truer with each kiss. She grappled him, pulling his face to hers, his mouth to hers, entwining their limbs. After a while he jerked away. His hands pinned hers above her head, his arms straightened so his body wasn’t touching her. She moaned at the sudden distance between their bodies and tried to press against him again.

“Three-fold promise, Lily, binding: I, Lily Margaret Evans Potter, promise—”

His strained face was so far away. Her hands were pinned; she couldn’t reach him. When she had promised he would kiss her again. 

“I, Lily Margaret Evans Potter, promise you, Severus Tobias Snape, to let you hold me.”

He was so far away, so far, only dipping down to kiss her briefly. She needed him closer. When she had said it right he would be. She said more confidently, “I, Lily Margaret Evans Potter, promise you, Severus Tobias Snape, to let you comfort me.”

Another kiss and his haggard face retreated. One more iteration and he would give her what she needed. She heard her voice continue distantly, “… to let you make me feel better. Severus, please, please, kiss me….”

And he was there, on top of her, letting their bodies move together, letting her kiss and caress him. But he wouldn’t enter her, wouldn’t make love with her, wouldn’t even undress, though his erection strained maddeningly against her crotch. “No, Lily, not yet, not yet, magical reasons….”

But at least he held her and touched her; he let her touch him again and again. Though his face was white and closed even as he stroked her with his hand and mouth and magic.

*

When her mind worked again later, Lily wondered distantly if she should be angry at Severus for manipulating her. The threefold promise was quite a serious magical binding. But really, all that had happened was that she had bound herself to accept what he was offering, what she already really wanted; that was all.

Everything was easy now: she had promised.

*

Since they’d announced their engagement, some wild mixture of elation and tension seemed to rule

Severus. When he held her, his whole body seemed to yearn for hers; so much so, that she was almost frightened by the discipline with which he restrained himself. _Wait,_ he insisted. _Wait until we’re married_. His hands on her inflamed her; she wanted more, now, but he was inflexible. She had tried teasing him about being old-fashioned; she had tried cajoling; she had tried begging. One time she had tried to force the issue, but he’d put her in a full body-bind.

But it wasn’t that he didn’t want her fully as much as she did him; his cock had hardened under her hand, his hips had jerked, before he went for his wand.   _“Lily, I said not yet!”_ He’d sounded desperate. But there was nothing holding them back but his strange whim.

Severus was paler and thinner even than usual. When she held him the muscles in his back and neck were tenser than even their mutual sexual frustration could account for. And he kept his Occlumens’ shields so tight, sometimes he seemed emptied of emotion.  

She whispered, “Severus, you seem so tense. Are you sure you really want this?”

He arched an eyebrow. “This?” 

“Being engaged.”

He came around behind her and embraced her with a sigh. He rubbed his cheek against her hair; one hand pulled her close to him while the other loosened her robes and started to drift down. Her back arched; she hadn’t worn a bra in hopes of enticing him to touch her. His thumb found a nipple and started circling. He murmured distractedly, “Being engaged? Not at all. I hate it.  I hate it. Being married… Lily, I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen. Seeing you—date James—that was torture. But this… I’m taking advantage of you, and I know it. You’re so vulnerable now. I know I shouldn’t do this. But I can’t resist, I can’t….” His voice broke off in a gasp as he kissed her ear; then his mouth moved down to her neck. By now his cock was pressing eagerly against her arse. She managed to turn in his arms to embrace him properly, and neither spoke coherently for some time. He finally pushed her away brusquely; both were shaking. Lily reached out for him again, but he caught her wrists and held her away.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Lily. I can’t. We can’t.”

She shook her head in frustration, tears prickling her eyes. “Why not? Why are you being so stubborn, Sev? Why are you torturing us both? I’m not some stupid virgin, it’s not like either of us is that religious—I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

He turned away from her, bracing himself against the wall. “No. You don’t understand. But you will. When we’re married.” His eyes were shut; his flush had faded. He was so white suddenly that she could almost count each black lash fluttering against its shadow on his skin.

“Only a little longer,” she whispered.

He turned back to her, his eyes blazing strangely. Then he closed them and relief softened the lines in his face. “Yes,” he whispered. “Only a little longer, and then this will be done.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Only a little longer, Lily. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. We can take anything for a little while. In a little while I can explain. I have to be stubborn now on this issue. Not to mention that stubbornness comes naturally to me.”

He was holding her again, strong fingers rubbing. One hand held her to him. The other brushed her cheek; she caught his hand where he was stroking her. Lily laughed a little wildly, her hand catching his, urging it downwards. It caught and fluttered. She laughed again and said, “Not to mention that, no.”   

He gasped, stroking her. At least he was touching her a little. And soon she’d have him whole.

 

*

Away from him, Lily thought about what he’d betrayed. Of course, being Severus, if he thought he was taking unfair advantage, he’d think that he should stop. Lily thought about his early kisses, the first ones, back when she had still been trying to stop them.   He must have felt then that he should stop, but he couldn’t. From her point of view, it was flattering, that his desire had been stronger than his will ( _his_ will, his, the strongest-willed person she’d ever known). From his, his desire must have seemed to him both a weakness to crush in himself and an exploitation of her vulnerability. He’d failed to stop himself. That would be unforgivable to Severus, who demanded so much of himself. It accounted for his haunted air and his tension. He had failed himself, and he had taken advantage of her. That was so how Severus would see things. How could she persuade him that that wasn’t the truth, or not the whole truth?

Lily rocked in her bed, nursing one of Severus’s handkerchiefs to her cheek, the other hand between her legs. When she finished, she lay still, trying to figure out how to make Severus forgive himself for giving in to wanting her.   He had helped her; he had taken her out of her grief: couldn’t he see that? If he hadn’t been there to absorb her, she’d be lost in pain still. Only his presence assuaged her; why didn’t he count the good he did her to his credit? For she knew that he did not. She would have to persuade him.

Lily rocked again, imagining stroking Severus, lulling him, massaging his back, easing the tight muscles, welcoming him into her body until he finally gave in. He would give in eventually. She would make him.


	4. A Show for the Dark Lord:  The Feast of Saint Lucia (12/13/1981)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Lily's wedding night

_“Is it too cold for you?”_

Too soon, too fast, interfering fools said.  But Lily needed him now, and Severus had wanted her for years.  It wasn’t too fast for either of them; it was too slow.  She didn’t care about anything else. 

The Herbology professor had offered to force any flower Lily liked for a bouquet, but Severus insisted on having her hands free.  Instead he had braided sedge into bracelets and a wreath for her hair into which they had stuck fragrant wild and semi-wild flowers of all seasons and countries:  meadowsweet, asphodel, borage, gillyflower, wild rose, elder blossom, sweet peas, violets.

Severus had stammered when they exchanged their vows; Lily’s voice had come clearly.

Finally they were alone in his rooms.

She turned into his arms, smiling.  Now came what she had dreamed of.

He was death-pale and sweating.  What on earth was wrong?  Lily frowned at Severus in confusion.  Could he possibly be a virgin and afraid of disappointing her?  

She let her hands slide up and down his back and whispered, “It would be astonishing, love, if the first time weren’t way too fast, as overkeyed as we both are by now.  See, you should have let me seduce you weeks ago, and then we’d both be more relaxed.  The second and third times will be much better.  Let’s get the first time over with quickly, and go on to enjoy the second….”

Severus was shivering, his eyes shut as he clutched her to him.  One hand gripped her almost painfully; his erection ground against her, but his hands held her immobile.  He gasped, “Lily.  Yes.  Quickly.  We have to—we have to consummate the marriage as soon as possible.  And then—and then I have to give you some things.  And then after that—I’ll do whatever you want.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s going to be too fast.”

 

It was. 

 

He didn’t even try to undress either of them, just pulled her negligee aside and thrust inside clumsily.  It was way too fast, but Lily didn’t care.  She’d have the rest of the night, the rest of their lives, to teach him how to please her, and the ways he had touched her before left her with no doubts of his eagerness to learn.  

Snape’s former Potions partner knew better than anyone Severus’s experimental bent and attention to detail when he turned his mind fully to a subject.  These past weeks, Severus had turned his mind to Lily’s body.  He had stroked her breasts with palms, thumbs, fingertips; he had trailed the backs of his nails against her nipples, had pinched them, had brushed them lightly, had rubbed them….  Then he had started using his mouth—all the time with huge black eyes drinking in every flicker of her reaction to each variation in touch. 

Lily looked forward to Severus’s further investigations; they would have all the night to play. 

But for now Severus was collapsed atop her, his face buried in her hair.  Lily kissed his throat and tasted his sweat.  She cradled him, molding herself to him, trying to convey how delighted she was simply to hold him.  He was still shaking violently; with a shock, she realized that he was sobbing silently.  He was holding her too tightly to allow her to move much, but she clutched him as hard as he would let her.

 

After a time his body clenched and he lifted himself off her.  His face was white, wet, and entirely unreadable.  With no clue to what could possibly be so wrong, Lily didn’t dare even to reach out to him.  Severus sat on the edge of the bed a moment, not looking at her.  He was still shaking, but he mastered himself enough to reach into the bureau by the bed and to pull out a potions phial.  He stared at it a moment; his hands were almost steady when they uncapped it.  His face was dead when he turned back to her.  “Lily, please drink this.” 

She stared at him in confusion.  “What is it, Severus?”

He closed his eyes a moment.  She could read nothing when they met hers again.  “Your antidote, Lily.  And then I can give you your memories back, and then you’ll understand everything.  And then I’ll do … whatever you say.” 

She opened her mouth to ask more; his face flickered then, just for a moment.  The momentary expression was anguish; she lay silent.   He said, very quietly, “Lily, please, just drink it.  Please.” 

In the face of so much pain she didn’t argue; she sat up in bed and quaffed it.  She’d been wrong about Severus not undressing her at all; he’d managed to untie her sash in the course of proceedings.  Her negligee fell open as she handed back the phial.  Even with the roaring fire, the winter air was chill on her skin.  She shivered and moved automatically a little closer to Severus’s warmth.  His hand twitched; for a moment, seeing his eyes, she thought he would reach out to cup her breast.  Her nipples hardened at the gesture.  Instead, his hand dropped, and he regarded her with a hint of confusion.  

Severus said, frowning slightly, “It should take effect faster than that.”

He turned back to the bureau and pulled out an odd stone bowl and a crystal phial.  Lily couldn’t remember seeing either before, but somehow they seemed familiar.  The phial was filled with a shifting, shimmering silver fluid, not water and not light.  Severus added the fluid from the phial to the stone basin and placed the basin ceremoniously into her hands.  He looked a little calmer now, but it seemed the calmness of someone who’d gone past some point of no return.  He was certainly no happier about whatever was going on.  Lily regarded him in concern and fear.

“Where’s your wand, Lily?”  Wordlessly she pulled it from the wand-rest she’d found carved into the headboard.  Severus nodded approval.  He said quietly, “These are memories.  Your memories.  Do you know how to do this?  Just dip your wand in, let it catch a memory, and apply it to your temple.  When you’ve gotten them all back you’ll understand everything.” 

He left her then, walking across the room to stand leaning against the door, turned away from her.  Lily’s first impulse was to smash the bowl and all its contents against the floor.  Anything that had Severus this upset couldn’t possibly be anything she wanted.  

But Severus trusted her to do what he asked of her. 

 

*

Lily huddled under the covers on her marriage bed, crying silently.  Severus’s voice floated across the room.   “Dumbledore reminded me that the marriage would not be valid if we did not consummate it.  I am sorry.” 

His voice was entirely without expression, but Lily found herself reacting to the sound.  She wanted to hear it again; she wanted him to say something else, to speak to her.  She had buried her face in the sheets that smelled of his sweat, the way she had buried herself in his robes the night James and Harry died.  What was wrong with her?

She wanted him closer, not so far away.  She wanted him to hold her.  The thought of Severus closer, holding her, brought the blood hot to her cheeks.  And to her nipples.  And between her legs.  She huddled in their marriage bed, breath stopped. 

“Severus.”  Her voice came out wrong.  It was shaky and yearning when it should be furious.  “Your antidote isn’t working right.”

“What?”  He strode back to the bed. “I brewed it perfectly, Lily.  I triple checked all the interactions, and I was damn careful what order I gave you things because there were a few interactions I couldn’t compensate for—”  He broke off, staring at her.  Lily couldn’t hide her reaction:  her flush, her darkening eyes, the way her body  simultaneously eased and grew eager at his approach.   “Shit, Lily,” he said, his eyes fixed on her wide eyes.  “What, what part of the potions are you still feeling?”

He sank down on the bed, staring at her, and she involuntarily moved a little nearer.  His hand reached out and stopped.

Lily said thinly, trying to be accurate, “Pretty much all of them, I should think.  I don’t know what all you gave me.  I feel aphrodisiac effects, of course, but also—I feel inclined still to trust you and to want you, well, just near me.  I, I feel better when you’re close.” 

Severus shook his head at that.  “I didn’t give you any actual lust potions, Lily, and at least some of the other effects should be waning even without the antidote, it’s been a day since I last dosed you—” He broke off suddenly and turned white again, the deathly pallor he’d had at the start of their tryst.  “Conditioning.”

The word was vaguely familiar to Lily. “What?” 

“Conditioning.  It’s a term from one of Petunia’s science books.”  He threw back his head suddenly and laughed; the sound was rich with despair.  If he were a woman Lily would have called it hysteria.   

The laughter cut off sharply with a gasp.  Severus put his head down, black hair swinging to hide his face, and explained.  “Don’t you remember, Lily?  A scientist called Pavlov.  He rang a bell every time he put down food for the dog:  and after a time, the dog salivated every time the bell was rung, whether food was there or not.  Or—think of it like training a, a strangler vine.  The soft little shoots can’t hold at first, but if you attach them by magic to a support, soon the shoots entwine so tightly they can’t be disentangled.  By magic or by any other means.

“That’s… that’s what I did to you.  I gave you potions for a number of weeks; now I’ve given you their antidotes.  Which work, I am perfectly confident of their efficacy.  But in the meantime I trained you.  Your body has spent over a month being trained that being close to me, being held by me, was your only source of comfort in your grief.  That being held by me, being kissed by me, was your major source of pleasure.”

He lifted his hand, trailed a finger delicately along her jaw, and then stroked her lips, which opened to his touch.  Lily moved a little.  Severus jerked back, gasping. 

“You see, Lily?  I’ve conditioned you.  I gave you potions to make you trust me, want to please me, feel grateful to me, feel comforted by my mere presence, feel—not lust exactly, but overly sensitized to my touch.  The potions are gone; the conditioning is left.”

Severus laughed again, choking.  He crouched on the edge of their marriage bed, his head bowed.  Lily lay burning in the bed.  To trust him, to want to please him, to feel comforted by his presence, grateful for it, sensitized to him… exactly what blazed in her, and it had been burned into her flesh by treachery?  His treachery? 

He said suddenly, “Oh, fuck—and I took that promise from you.” 

A voice, distant, implacable, her own, tolled in Lily’s ears:  _“I promise.   To let you hold me, to let you comfort me, to let you make me feel better.”_

Her voice had added, gasping, _“Severus, please, please, kiss me.”_

Lily had known by the last, binding iteration, what the last clause obligated her to do. 

In a way that made it easier for her now.  She had promised.  Thrice.  Her promise didn’t ask whether either of them actually wanted it to be like this. It just bound her.  

She pulled him back down to her, keeping her promises.  He held himself unresponsive as long as he could.  He didn’t last long.

 

It felt good.  Worse, it felt right.

 

Her mind cleared afterward; full contact with him helped.  Now that had frightening implications.  Severus’s mouth was still on her breast, his tongue lapping her nipple.  One of Lily’s legs pinned him to her.  She shook him abruptly.  “Severus.  You weren’t thinking.”

He raised his head groggily from her chest.  It was odd to see him flushed when he was normally so pale.  Severus’s heart was still beating wildly; she could feel each blow in her own flesh.  He said unsteadily, “That… would seem to be apparent, Lily.  It seems I wasn’t thinking clearly about a lot of things.”

Lily shook him again, willing him to focus.  She said sharply, “Well, this is one of the big ones.  You’ll have to report, sometime, to… to You-Know-Who.  Won’t he look for something about me?  Won’t he expect to see tonight?  Won’t you have to have something to show him?”

Severus gaped like a mer and went pale again.  Lily said furiously, “Which part of tonight did you plan to show him?  The part where you cried like a baby because my reactions to you weren’t real?  The part where you gave me the antidote?  The part where you hated yourself for raping me?  This part, now?  What the hell are you going to show him, when he invades your mind?  Or did you think he wouldn’t, that he wouldn’t tear you apart looking for me?  You asked him to spare me:  did you think he wouldn’t look to see what the result was?  To see whether you didn’t, maybe, want me too much?  What were you thinking, Severus?”

He whispered, “I wasn’t, Lily; it was never my intention to follow through on this.  I thought I’d be dead by now.  And you safe, gone.”   

Absolutely true, not true at all, and it didn’t get him off the hook.  Severus closed his eyes despairingly. 

Lily’s eyes went cold again.  “We need to have something to show him.  We have to _think_ , Severus!”

He dropped his head to her heart again, shuddering. 

After a time, his voice came coolly.  “Lily.  You are quite correct.  We need to stage something I can show him.  You will need to act a part.  I … shall also need to feel one.   He’ll look for my feelings as well as my memories.  There is a potion we—” His voice stopped. 

Severus swallowed and resumed with deliberation.  “There is a potion **we** Death Eaters use sometimes to… eliminate empathy.  The Dark Lord prefers that we not use it, but sometimes parents or older friends give it to young Death Eaters on their first raid.  To prevent failure, loss of nerve, which is—severely punished.”

Lily blinked, momentarily diverted. “Wait. If it prevents failure, wouldn’t You-Know-Who want to give it to everyone?”

“You underestimate his taste for torture—and his subtlety. He prefers that his followers, ah, override their squeamishness and their consciences without assistance. And then if someone does fail to get the better of his better nature, or his cowardice, as the case may be, the Dark Lord gets the fun of inflicting punishment. No, much better to let us muddle through without.”

“Euh. And you followed someone like that? Severus, what the hell were you thinking?”

“It would seem that I was a fool. But that can scarcely come as news.” He grimaced and returned to the point. “But Lily—I should warn you—I am likely to be cruel under this potion’s influence. I won’t—I’m not likely to harm you physically, but I won’t pay any heed to your feelings. I won’t be _able_ to.”

“You’ve used it before?”

“No.”

Lily looked at him challengingly. “Never felt the need, eh?” 

A muscle by his mouth twitched. “Not on either side, no. I prefer to feel what I deserve to. And I’m a good enough Occlumens… not usually to show it.”

What the hell did that mean? Lily pondered a moment.   

Severus looked at her; when she nodded, he left the room and returned with another phial. He lifted the phial to her in an ironic toast and drank.

Severus raised his eyebrows in faint surprise, and then a tension that had seemed intrinsic to him drained from his body. He scanned the room, his eyes passing over Lily indifferently. His face was smooth and empty. After a moment he started putting the room to rights—cleaning the bed linens, replacing the candles with fresh ones, scouring the air with a breeze so no scent of sex remained. With a few passes of his wand all was done. He looked at Lily coolly then. “You’ll need to clean yourself, and—” He strode over to her and put his hands on her thighs, spreading them. She gasped indignantly.

“Yes, I thought so. Bruises elsewhere may be put down to prenuptial necking, but you need to salve these.”

Lily glared at him; he looked back coldly, annoyed. “We’re setting a scene, Lily, for the Dark Lord’s delectation. We have to pay close attention to detail. Surely you don’t want him to trip us up on some unconsidered trifle? Fortunately I have no windows; that would make it harder to hide the passage of time.”

Lily burned with humiliation; Severus had looked at her, handled her, as though she were furniture. He left and returned a moment later with a pot of salve. He stripped and dabbed some on his torso and buttocks where she had gripped him, then tossed her the pot. “On your thighs, Lily; elsewhere if you choose. It’ll take about two minutes to take effect, and then we need to clean off the residue so the scent doesn’t betray us. And then cleanse yourself. Remember that you undoubtedly wish to look dainty for your bridegroom.”

As sarcasm went it didn’t approach Severus’s norm, much less his worst, but the unconcern with which he spoke made it chilling. Lily lifted her head, appalled, and stared at him. He gazed back at her appraisingly and left the room. In a moment he returned with a handful of phials. He approached her; she cringed back a little. 

He nodded as though a theory had been confirmed and held out a phial. “As I thought. You won’t be able to act well enough without assistance. You’re afraid of me now. Drink this.”

She started away from the phial and said, “Not without knowing what it—”

“I’m not averse to other means.”

He grabbed the back of her head and kissed her, his mouth hard. “Trust me,” he said, pulling her against him. Lily stiffened a moment, struggling, and then her body softened as she absorbed his scent. He might look a blank-faced stranger, he might move differently without his usual taut edge, but he smelled right. She found herself leaning against him confidingly, her eyelids fluttering closed. 

He was kissing her again, harder, sliding his tongue between her lips. She tasted something unfamiliar in her mouth; it felt good. Her mouth opened eagerly. He was kissing her yet again; then he was shaking her, trying to rouse her.   Lily opened her eyes obediently, trying to focus.

His eyes were night-black, burning, and beautiful. 

She stared, transfixed. “I should like to apply the salve,” he told her, and Lily opened her legs unhesitatingly. His hands smoothed over her thighs.   He kissed her again, and then again, whispering, “That’s good. Remember your promises, Lily. You promised to let me—make you feel better.’ Long fingers moved upwards and started to stroke her crisp curls, still wet from earlier. 

That much she could remember. It was right to keep her promises, and it felt good. She arched, pressing against his hand. He pushed her down on the bed. He pressed his body atop hers and murmured, “You’re feeling it now, Lily, aren’t you? You’re burning for my touch. You need to please me, you need me to hold you, you need me to pleasure you. You’re not acting a part anymore; you can feel it. Can’t you?”

She rubbed herself against him, gasping. He purred, “I told you to trust me, and now you know I’m right. We’ll put on a good show. It’ll be easy.   Trust me.” 

Had he dosed her again? The kisses, of course. But he was right; it would be easy now to act as though she wanted him. It would be easy to fool You-Know-Who. It would be easy, the easiest thing in the world, to make love with him right now, despite that disturbing distance in his eyes. He was right again; he was always right. She struggled to pull him closer, to pull him into her. She keened in disappointment when he pulled away instead.

He said softly, “Cleanse yourself and dress again in that sweet negligee to please me, Lily. I’ll come back in about a minute, and we’ll start the show.”

He glanced about the room, a final check of the scene he’d set. Then he pulled his dressing gown closer about him. Hard eyes regarded her, and he smiled. “Don’t worry, Lily. I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself. One minute, and I’ll be back.”

Fresh candles lit the bed where she lay in a green and silver negligee, her unbound hair scattered on the pillow. Her bridegroom shucked his dressing gown as he strode to the bed; Lily’s body moved eagerly at the sight of his. He smiled.   He liked to see her like this, then. She raised herself, pleading, “Severus…”

His wand moved, and she was naked.   

He sat at the edge of their bed stroking her alternately with his wand and his hand. Her hips bucked at the jolts of pleasure the black length of wood gave her. The white hand, stroking, comforting in its human warmth, kept returning her to herself in time for another magical shock. The alternate blows of pleasure were too hard, too much. She cried out incoherently, reaching for him.

But she had promised to accept this. He was smiling. He liked to see her like this. “Yes, Lily,” he murmured. “Come for me. Scream for me. Yes, like that.”

Finally he lowered his body atop hers; she shivered with relief at feeling a body moving against her, giving her human-scaled release. “So good,” she moaned, “so good. Severus. Please.” 

“You like this, Lily, don’t you?” he asked. He pushed his cock in slowly, withdrew, and then thrust again.  He was real, present, here. He was on top of her, fucking her, hers wholly.  But he withdrew again. 

“You want this, Lily, don’t you? I can make you feel good. I’ll give you everything you want. If you ask nicely.”

She sobbed, “Please, Severus. Please.” She tried to pull him back down to her, but his wand suddenly touched her throat. Her hands fell to her sides, her body stilled; she was paralyzed below the neck. His hands stroked between her legs, and then his wand; she would have convulsed in pleasure if she were able. Instead she screamed.

“Once I said something that offended you, and you would have nothing to do with me, ever again. You thought you were too good for me. Wasn’t that so, Lily? I called you a Mudblood, and you didn’t want anything to do with me.   But now you want me, don’t you? You don’t care what I call you, do you? You want me to touch you. You want me to fuck you. You want me to permit you to touch me. Don’t you, Lily?”

She gasped and turned her head away. His hand gripped her jaw and turned it back to face him. His face was a smiling mask; his eyes were unreadable, blank. The dark man said softly, “Lily, I’ve already promised you. You can have what you want. I’ll give you everything you want, everything, everything, if you ask me nicely. But you have to ask me nicely. Do you want me to touch you?” His wand touched between her legs again, and she cried out at the fresh surge of sensation. He stroked her with the black wood repeatedly as she screamed. “Yes, that’s very nice, Lily, that’s good, I like to hear you scream, but you have to say the words. Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” she sobbed finally, “yes!”

“Good girl,” he soothed, “good little Mudblood.” A white hand replaced the black wood and started to stroke. “Yes, this is what you like, good little Mudblood. Is this what you like?” 

Her head whipped back and forth. “Say it!” he demanded, and she whimpered, “Yes….”

“Would you like me to fuck you, little Mudblood? Would you like me to release you and let you touch me? Would you like that, little Mudblood? Would you? Say it!”

One long finger was inside her now while his thumb moved against her clitoris. Her body would be spasming in pleasure if it were able to move. His wand brushed across her nipples, and another whip of too-intense pleasure hit her. 

“Yes,” she moaned. She was almost sure that was the right answer.

“Good girl. Good little Mudblood. You don’t like that word, do you? Do you, Lily?” His face was inches above her own, his eyes boring into hers.

“No. No, I don’t like that word, you know that!”

His lips curled slowly. “No. You don’t like it. But you like what I can do to you, don’t you?” One hand was still busy at her crotch; the other moved slowly, softly, tracing lines from her belly to her left nipple. Across to the other one, then pausing to cup and stroke. He broke eye contact to bring his mouth down to trace the same path.

Then he sat up, smiling, somehow back at the edge of the bed. “Your choice, Lily.   I’ll give you everything you want, you know I will. I’ll fuck you; I’ll touch you everywhere; I’ll let you touch me. I’ll kiss you—you know you want that. If you ask nicely, I’ll give you everything. Ask me to call you a Mudblood.” 

She looked at him in fury; Severus smiled back coolly and started fisting himself. “I don’t need you, Lily, look. I can do just fine without you. But you need me.” He stroked his thumb, the same one that had caressed her, over the tip of his cock and gathered a drop of moisture. He smeared it across her upper lip, and she moaned. Her tongue came out to taste it. Severus was leaning on his arms over her again, smiling into her eyes. His own were devoid of any emotion.

His voice turned suddenly smooth, soothing, as he said, “Besides, you have no choice, really. You need to keep your promises….” He kissed her, lowering his body to rub against her again; she sobbed in frustration at being unable to catch him to her.  

She had promised to let him make her feel better.

“Ask nicely, Lily, ask nicely.” His erection was prodding her thighs; she couldn’t move to let him in. “Ask me to call you Mudblood.   You know I’ll give you everything when you do. You know that, don’t you, Lily?”

His wand touched her; she screamed again, helpless to stop herself. When she could speak, she whispered, defeated, “Yes. Call me Mudblood. Please.” 

Her arms were suddenly free again to embrace him. Her thighs parted, her back arched, welcoming him. He was laughing as he thrust. “Good girl. Good little Mudblood. Filthy little Mudblood. There, that’s better, isn’t it? Good little Mudblood.”

When he had finished, he lay atop her a moment, gasping. Then he laughed again and rolled on his side, pulling her with him.   “It’s not over yet, not nearly, little Mudblood. You want more, don’t you? We’re not done yet, there’s so much more….” She shivered at the promise, moving to press herself against him. “Yes, you like the touch of my flesh, you need the feel of my skin against yours, don’t you, little Mudblood? Here, let’s see…”

He turned her so that her back was pressed against him; every nerve from her bum to the nape of her neck sang with pleasure. His leg slung over her and pressed her close. One of his arms was half trapped by her head, but the hand still had some freedom to explore her breasts and shoulder. The other long-fingered hand moved in slow patterns before settling again between her legs. “Ask me nicely,” he whispered.   

“Please, call me Mudblood…”

His hand started moving and he murmured in her ear, “Little Mudblood. It feels so good, doesn’t it, little Mudblood…” When she was writhing he started using his tongue and teeth on her, first on the earlobe, then on her throat, never stopping his soft flow of obscenities. Her greatest frustration was being so little able to touch him. Finally one of her hands caught his hip, the other trapped his fingers on her breast, and she rode his hand to orgasm. 

“Sweet Mudblood, is it good?” he whispered as she came.

He was still holding her, stroking, touching her everywhere as he had promised. He had kept his promises; so had she, she thought giddily. She was letting him… she cried out and spasmed, once and twice again. 

She lay in a haze for a time, and then felt his wand pressing against her. This time each overpowering pulse of pleasure from the black wood was followed immediately by his sweet flesh, by an obliging mouth or hand or cock or thigh, bringing her to completion, over and over.   His voice hissed obscenities in her ear.

One time he sat at the far end of the bed, leaning back casually on his arms, rubbing her only with a long white foot. His voice explained, “Little Mudblood, I want you to understand that any part of me can bring you pleasure.” It was true, truer than anything. 

Some time later, he rubbed a cramp-relieving balm over her pelvis and thighs. Her muscles eased from their overstimulation and went slack, easy, comforted. Long fingers smoothed another balm over her nipples and labia, soothing the redness and minor abrasions from so much friction. He gave her water to drink, or maybe it was another potion. She wasn’t tracking any more. The moisture felt so good in her throat, so kind. His hands, his wand, refused to stop touching her.   Her tired body tautened again at the recurrent stimulation.

His voice was increasingly hoarse, “Ask me nicely.”

Hers grew fainter as she faded, obedient to her lesson, “Call me Mudblood. Please.”

A dark voice, exhausted, unyielding, embedded itself in her flesh with soft, obscene, true statements, “Little Mudblood, you like this. Sweet Mudblood, you need this.”  

She did.

Lily passed out finally in his arms.

 

*

The Dark Mark burned.

Severus robed himself, went to the Hogwarts bounds, and Disapparated. He still felt oddly blank of true emotion.

“So how was your bereft widow, Severus?” 

“Enthusiastic, and, ah, eminently trainable.” He let the Dark Lord seize glimpses of memory, imperfectly guarded. Lily had been right; they gave exactly the right impression.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the martyrdom speech attributed to Saint Lucia, patroness of the blind:
> 
> “No one's body is polluted so as to endanger the soul if it has not pleased the mind. If you were to lift my hand to your idol and so make me offer against my will, I would still be guiltless in the sight of the true God, who judges according to the will and knows all things. If now, against my will, you cause me to be polluted, a twofold purity will be gloriously imputed to me. You cannot bend my will to your purpose; whatever you do to my body, that cannot happen to me.”


	5. Partners in Crime:  The Very Dead of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily would scrub her hands clean, if she could.

 

_“…this ice, this crystal wall, this puzzle…”_

 

“You promised to do whatever I asked,” Lily whispered, curving her leg over his and caressing him.  He could never resist her for long.  Eventually, shivering, he turned, as he always did.  His lips slid over her skin as though he were starved for her.  His hands touched her everywhere, like he had promised that night. 

Afterwards, he lay gasping, eyes shut tight. 

“You hate it that I don’t feel this for real, don’t you, Severus?  You hate it.”  She sat up and ran her fingers softly over his pale torso.  He flinched and endured her touch.  His jaw clenched.

“You know that already, Lily; what do you want me to say?”

“Say yes,” she hissed.

He turned his head away from her and whispered, defeated, “Yes.  I hate it.”

“Good.”  Lily smiled and snuggled in luxuriously beside him, nudging his arm to come around her so she could bury her face in his chest.  She slept best that way, and she knew he hated that too.  He hated that he’d forced her to learn that response.

He had suggested separate rooms; he had suggested separate beds.  Lily would have none of it.  “We need to keep your cover.  That’s the whole point of this charade.  Do you dare tell me you can go to You-Know-Who tomorrow and persuade him that you’re tired of your revenge on me, that you don’t want me anymore?”  She had laughed and pressed herself against him, stroking him, until Severus admitted, white-faced, that he would fail in that lie.

But he wouldn’t call her Mudblood.  That was the one thing she couldn’t make him do.  But begging him to say it inflamed her enough that he didn’t actually need to.  He hated that too.

 

*

Lily regarded her hands with incredulity.  She was brewing for You-Know-Who—and also for Madam Pomfrey, which didn’t make her feel better about it.  But her skills at brewing had been part of the inducement offered to Voldemort to spare her, and Dumbledore thought it better for her husband’s cover if she delivered on that part of it.  She spent part of her days officially brewing for Madam Pomfrey and sometimes St. Mungo’s in the private lab off Severus’s quarters.   No one would think to question her work.  War widow, grieving mother. 

Traitor, giving aid and comfort to the enemy.

She would be incapable of questioning her husband, so he had told her, when he had her brew extra, sometimes unusual potions, from his very private store of ingredients.   Many healing potions still, which she supposed was not so odd.  A Death Eater cursed by an Auror could hardly go to St. Mungo’s for treatment.  But also Veritaserum, Complicio, Will-Weakening Potion, and their antidotes. 

And other things. 

However much she washed them, whatever gloves she wore, her hands were always filthy.  She had stopped touching people where she could avoid it.  Except Severus—he was filthy too.  He could touch her and not be dirtied.

 

*

Severus smoothed his newest balm over her chapped hands.  “It could be worse, you know,” he told her conversationally.

Lily looked at her husband skeptically.  He returned her gaze dispassionately.  “I’ve told him that in my earlier infatuation I had grossly overestimated your creativity; that really you’re no use for anything but routine brewing.” 

His lips quirked slightly. 

“Which reminds me.  How are you coming on that counter for Dolohov’s little favorite?”

She demonstrated the charm she had so far, and they argued technicalities for a time.    

 

*

Severus raged, “Dumbledore, it must be that damned werewolf!  Information is still being passed from the Order.  I told you that he and Black were probably working as a pack—I told you!”

“No, Severus,”  the headmaster said steadily.  “That it was Lupin I will not credit; his emotions at Potter’s death and Black’s betrayal were genuine.  He was shocked, grief-stricken, betrayed, and most of all, surprised.  He was in too much shock and pain—over Sirius especially—to Occlude himself adequately, had he ever had the capacity.   Lupin has since been so depressed we’ve pulled him off most duty; he hasn’t been to most of the Order meetings, we just contact him with simple tasks—and hope he doesn’t kill himself performing them.  No, Lupin it was not.” 

Dumbledore looked at the young man keenly.  “Severus, why are you so sure it’s the same traitor?  Have you considered that, Black locked away, Voldemort might simply have recruited someone new?  I grant you that I should wish that there be few members of the Order so willing to betray it, but that seems the easiest solution.”

The younger wizard hesitated, frowning at his hands.  “It … smells the same,” he said, frustrated.  “I—don’t have anything specific to point to, except that it seemed obvious to me that this last information came from—” 

Snape’s voice cut off.

After a moment it resumed, expressionless, “—the same source as the information on the Fidelius.  I think it’s partly—this source is, like that one, under deeper cover than even I have ever been.  And I was, am, under deeper cover than almost anyone.  Karkaroff still doesn’t know who it is—or of course, Karkaroff doesn’t know again.”

The dark head lifted suddenly.  “No.  Still.  _Karkaroff_ thinks it’s the same source—it’s the same trace of frustration, the exact same, as before.  That’s part of what I picked up on.  And the source, whoever it is, clearly has full access to Order headquarters.  But we already established from the Potters’ Fidelius that it was one of the Marauders, and two of them are dead, the third is in Azkaban.  It has to be the werewolf.  Even if he’s playing too depressed to go to Order meetings openly, he still is inside the Order’s Fidelius.  He could Disillusion himself or use Polyjuice or an invisibility cloak to sneak in and spy on you.” 

Severus met the blue eyes stubbornly.  “It has to be Lupin.  Nothing else makes sense.”

Dumbledore looked at him calculatingly.  “Your insistence, Severus, carries great weight with me.  But I wonder if we’re both—if we’re all—missing something.”

A moment’s flash of his old black humor lit Snape’s eyes.  “Impossible.”

“One small point, but curious:  Lily had been Obliviated before I did so, and quite recently.”  Dumbledore carefully did not look at Lily’s husband.   “There might be several reasons, of course, and several culprits.  I did not meddle, then; you know how delicate that work is, and how dangerous if one goes astray.  I think, Severus, that I shall pay a visit to Azkaban.  I shall want some Veritaserum from you; this time I will not let Black evade my strictest questioning.  Meanwhile, Severus, you shall bend your supple mind to preparing an explanation for Voldemort as to why I should take the sudden whim to reexamine that months’ old betrayal.”

 

*

The thought of what waited to be taken from the stasis spell in Lily’s potions laboratory sickened her.  She would throw out that cauldron after.  She would throw out her hands, too, if only she could. 

Dumbledore had said, very quietly, “Severus always shows me Voldemort’s potions requests.  We can often deduce his plans and intentions from them.  To keep Severus’s cover, this one must be brewed, and brewed perfectly.  Severus can’t not bring it to him; he’d be killed if he failed.  But we think we know the intended victim and can protect her.  Lily, Severus doesn’t have the time, and the brewing must be done.  And you are supposed by Voldemort to be so far under Severus’s control that you care about nothing but pleasing him.  You must neither make any mistakes nor betray your distaste at the task.  Students with Death Eater parents may report if you seem distressed. In public you must appear complaisant.”

Lily had stared at him in horror.

She scrubbed and scrubbed her hands after each session in the lab.  She had had to start wearing gloves to hide the raw patches.  Severus captured her hands to rub his balm on them, but it didn’t help.   

 

*

Three days after she finished the potion, Severus disarmed her and examined her raw hands impassively while she fumed at him. 

They hadn’t healed.

He disappeared without comment.  That evening he said, very quietly, “Lily.  You have to avoid attracting notice, and you have to stay functional.   You have a choice:  I can heal your hands, if you will let me.  Otherwise—perhaps you have reacted unfortunately, as some do, to a specific ingredient.  A minor matter, nothing of import.  You will drink Nutritive Potions to make up your lost meals.  Dumbledore, Pomfrey, or I will monitor you to be sure you don’t lose ground.  You’ll continue to wear gloves; you’ll pretend to eat, pretend to socialize; this option depends both on your willingness and your ability to lie to your friends, you understand.   I—recommend the first option, that of healing your hands in reality, but the choice is yours.”

But she deserved the pain in her hands, after what they’d done; she didn’t want them soothed. 

She raised her gaze to Severus.

Severus grimaced.  “An unfortunate—isn’t the Muggle equivalent called an allergic reaction?—then.  Who knows?  Perhaps Tuney is a victim to such afflictions.”

 

*

Masked, robed, Snape braced himself for probable reprisal.   Holding his story firmly in his mind, he Apparated.  The appropriate chain of words and images possessed him. 

He was admitted after a time; he kissed the Dark Lord’s hem reverently.  “My Lord, I must report a possibly unfortunate event.  You know that the meddling old fool practices Legilimency more than he pretends; you recall what I told you, that his wandless use is stronger than most Legilimens’ full-force spells.  He was speaking of the Fidelius Charm with Filius and picked up something, some discrepancy, in my wife’s reactions.  He ordered her to attend him that afternoon.  She was dazed afterwards; she allowed me free access to her thoughts, as the little Mudblood trusts me implicitly, but I could not ascertain what he was after. 

“However, Dumbledore himself told me later.  He visited Sirius Black in Azkaban, and got the full truth from him.  It seems that Black was not the Potter’s Secret-Keeper after all, and therefore not their traitor.  Rather, that role was played by Peter Pettigrew, who must therefore have been a tool or a dupe of, ah, the other side.  That’s why Black went so insane with rage as to be willing to commit mass murder to take out Pettigrew. 

“Dumbledore seems to doubt that he can get Black out of Azkaban.  Black, apparently, holds himself guilty of Potter’s death because it was he who persuaded Potter to change to Pettigrew as Secret-Keeper, so he refuses, in his grief, to testify in his own behalf.” 

Snape allowed his lips to curve, baring his teeth.  His eyes held mirth.

“While the former Mrs. Potter continues to testify that Black was the Secret-Keeper, there is little danger of the original story unraveling. With Pettigrew dead and Black unwilling to defend himself, Dumbledore is unsure whether to meddle further.  In particular he worries that letting the true story out might damage my dear wife’s mind.  To no good purpose, since Black still is guilty of mass murder, even if he committed it in an effort to kill a traitor.

“I have assured myself that my wife shall continue to testify that Black was the Secret-Keeper.  I tested my little Mudblood under Veritaserum and she gave the correct response with no equivocation whatsoever.  When I penetrated her mind with Legilimency, I could find only the faintest shadow of confusion on the matter of Black and the Fidelius.  I was careful not to disturb it.  Dumbledore may be an old fool, but it was shrewd of him to have caught such a slim clue and followed it.  What are your instructions in this matter?  Shall I encourage Dumbledore in one direction or another, or just monitor his actions?”

Mirth died.  Snape met the red eyes calmly, letting the dark mind tear through his thoughts.  The advantage of telling the truth was that Snape had nothing at all to hide. 

 

Except, of course, the minor matter of Dumbledore deducing that Black had been wrong in thinking he’d killed Pettigrew along with the Muggles. 

The cold voice spoke.  “And why, Severus, are you so deeply in Dumbledore’s confidence in this matter?”

Snape laughed aloud.  “My Lord jests!  Dumbledore’s greatest weakness is his sentimentality, his belief in the power of _love_.  This matter concerns my _beloved_ wife so closely; of course he’s apprised me.  It’s her sanity at stake should we tear apart your work to clear Black of one of the several charges against him.  But Dumbledore thinks the Obliviation Potter’s work to protect his friend, which is a rich jest.” 

He regarded his master with a sudden touch of uncertainty.  “Surely, my Lord, you had anticipated how Dumbledore interpreted my marriage?  He now believes that I, ah, turned to him, not at guilt over my life debt to James Potter, but out of devotion to Potter’s wife—which I hadn’t mentioned to him before, having believed it to have been unrequited.  His faith in me is thus rendered more unshakable than ever.  Surely you had planned all along to use this sentimentality, my Lord?  I had thought this a part of your calculations.” 

Red eyes probed his again.  Snape carefully worked to erase a spurt of contempt that this supremely obvious interpretation might not have been thought of.  He was almost successful before the Dark Lord glimpsed it.  But at least his obvious effort at respect spared him the Cruciatus this time. 

When the Dark Lord released his mind, Snape added, “Allow me to add, my Lord, that it was a pleasure to view such superlative work.  As an old, old friend of Mr. Black’s, may I express my gratitude towards you?  I do appreciate how it must add to his misery in Azkaban to know that Lupin and the former Mrs. Potter share the common belief in his guilt.  I must add, too, that it cheers me to think that I need not regard Black as a compatriot suffering misfortune. 

“And, ah… Dumbledore also let Black know that Mrs. Potter is now Mrs. Snape.  I’m sure that, too, adds to Black’s enjoyment of his prison.  I understand that Black was not entirely complimentary to me; Dumbledore was quite distressed in telling me of Black’s responses.” 

Snape allowed himself a grin.  “It seems that Black feels I must have coerced Mrs. Potter in some way.  You know how all the Blacks grow up with the Dark Arts:  it encourages nasty suspicious minds.  Dumbledore was obliged to tell him that the courtship, though precipitous, was conducted under his own eyes, and that Dumbledore views it as an encouraging sign of, ah, reconciliation between our Houses.”

The Dark Lord laughed aloud at that.  “And are you feeling reconciled with your old school rivals, my little Snake?”

“With Potter?  Assuredly.  He’s dead without issue; I have his wife and his fortune, though I’m being discreet on how I spend the latter.  I played a crucial role in his demise, though I wasn’t privileged to use my own wand.  With Black… well, I confess, I’d find his situation more piquant could I have but played a more active part in it.  Still, I might get lucky:  if you ever engineer a break from Azkaban, my Lord, could you not include Black as a treat for me?  The others—Lupin and Pettigrew—were sycophants, of no moment.  Black, though….” 

Snape produced a very small and eager cough of laughter.  “My, ah, pursuing him would provide cover for the story that Black had been your tool, don’t you think?  I could hunt him in a righteous rage, avenging my wife’s past wrongs.  Wouldn’t that be charming?  Though, alas, I suppose I cannot do that now in front of Dumbledore.  What a pity the old fool’s in the way.” 

Snape ruminated for a moment and added cheerfully, “Still, the fool _is_ old.  He has to die soon, and he might well be assisted to die sooner.  Once he’s dead, none but we two, my Lord, will know that Pettigrew had been Potter’s Secret-Keeper, and I could avenge myself on Black in my wife’s name with perfect propriety.  I’m sure it should raise my status in the Wizarding community—it might garner me an Order of Merlin!”   His lips stretched in an anticipatory grin.

 

*

The books thumped on the table as Severus released them.  Two were on the manufacture of Dark Detectors.  The others… Lily’s face screwed up in distaste as she read the titles. 

“A new research project for us, Lily,” Severus said lightly.  “This particular spell would have to be demonstrated on a living being, which I don’t especially care to do.  But I’ve written the incantation, and here is the wand movement.” 

Lily stared at his movements, then at the parchment, putting the two together.  This curse would make the body incapable of absorbing nourishment.  The victim would eat, and eat, and starve.  It was progressive:  first it blocked nutrient absorption partly, then more and more completely.  Eating fed the curse:  the more the victim succumbed to her hunger and ate, the faster she would starve.  And the curse exaggerated the pain of hunger. 

“How long—” Lily’s mouth was dry.  She broke off and tried again.  “How long does it take someone to starve?”

“Natural starvation?  With total lack of food?  Weeks to two months, depending on how well-nourished one was to start.  Usually one dies of side-effects first, infection due to the weakened system or a vitamin defiency or some such.  This one, no one knows for sure, since Wizarding medicine can block most of the side-effects.”

Lily whispered, “But this is a pointless thing to use in battle.  I mean, it has no immediate effects at all!  Why would someone waste time casting this against an enemy when they could just use Stupefy—or, I suppose, Avada Kedavra?  Why waste time developing something like this?”

“You’re looking at it wrong, Lily.  It’s one of our few advantages that the Dark Lord is—rather easily distracted—from his ultimate goals by the promise of pain.  He quite possibly developed this simply because he likes to occupy himself with devising new means of torture.  If he kept his mind on his political goals, he’d be even more formidable as an enemy.” 

Severus paused.  “But actually there are strategic uses for slow-killing spells.  Cast while retreating … they invalid out an enemy, and force the other side to expend resources, maybe scarce resources, on care.    Or not, which affects morale.  Moreover, we have no effective treatment for this one yet, so the enemy would die in the end.  Most significantly, we have no detection spells for its casting yet, either, though I’ve managed a diagnostic.  So this could be cast… not in combat.  In Diagon Alley, say, against someone unsuspecting.  Or the Dark Lord could threaten with it, as he threatens to send werewolves against the families of those who oppose him.”

Lily went white.  After a moment she looked up at him.  “You said… you’ve managed a diagnostic spell.  That means you’ve had someone to diagnose.”

“One of the Aurors.  Not an Order member; I doubt you know him.  A trial run, I understand.  Very fortunately, he was facing the Death Eater who cast it; the Dark Lord is under the impression that his Pensieved memories gave us a clear enough view of the casting to recreate the curse in whole.  This is wholly against the Dark Lord’s policy on releasing new spells.  The Death Eater in question was punished most severely for his carelessness.  In full meeting, which is officially how I know about it.”

Severus shifted and said briskly, “We need a detection charm; as you can see the Dark Detectors in Diagon Alley or the Ministry would ignore it, so a wizard could cast it without risk of being immediately apprehended.  My own speculation is that is this is because it takes force only when one next eats.  It’s harmless until then, and eating is itself an intrinsically harmless act….  Rather the way Dark potions aren’t usually detected:  I think that the detectors are confused by the separation of the intent that goes into their creation and the effects of their use.  This theory may well be wrong. 

‘However, if my theory is right, we might also expect the Dark Lord to come up with more delayed-action curses which could conceivably be cast in public without triggering the Dark alarms.  If it’s not, we need to figure out why this one does slip through.  In either case we need to come up with a generalized way of identifying such curses to add to our detecting charms, just as the detectors for Imperius also catch Confundus and Oblivius if cast in their range.  Finally, Dumbledore agrees that a cure will most likely be effected by a charm to freeze the effects, followed by potions to restore the victim’s body.  Where do you want to begin?”

 

An Auror was already affected and could die… but if they couldn’t detect its use, a Death Eater could stroll through Diagon Alley Disillusioned and cast it on anyone he chose.  On families.  Lily imagined a baby crying in unsatisfiable hunger.

“Detection,” Lily said grimly.  “We’ll start with that.”

Severus pushed books at her and Accio’ed a parchment and quill for her note-taking.   He started rummaging in his own bookshelf, that portion Warded even against her.

The first text under her hand was on curses that destroyed the victim by exaggerating natural urges.  That was certainly relevant.  Lily opened it reluctantly and set to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m borrowing Jodel’s theory [http://www.redhen-publications.com/MansBestFriend.html] that Sirius did throw a curse at Peter which Sirius originally thought was successful in killing Peter (and imho, possibly the twelve Muggles). That makes sense of why Sirius went quietly with the Aurors and never tried to establish his innocence: he thought he wasn’t. If Sirius thought he had executed Wormtail, then his revenge was complete and the threat Wormtail posed was ended. Until Sirius saw the photo of Wormtail perched happily on Harry’s best friend’s shoulder….
> 
> At this point it would certainly be to Dumbledore’s benefit to have Voldemort believe that Dumbledore bought Sirius’s version of events. If you know exactly who (and in this case, what) the spy is, you can use that to feed him false information. Rat-detecting spells, anyone? And, um, subtly modified conversations, when the alarms go off?


	6. A Show for Madam Pomfrey:  February 1982

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's important that Lily present the public semblance of a devoted wife.

 

_“and it never has before”_

 

Severus stiffened.   He said impassively, “I’m being called, Lily.  Would you please notify Dumbledore after I leave?” 

He Accioed robes and mask from his warded room off their bedroom.  Before he left, he regarded her with expressionless black eyes.  “Ah. Lily.  No need to wait up.  I’ll need to talk with Dumbledore first anyhow.”

Sometimes when he came back from being called, he was shaking uncontrollably.  “Aftereffects,” he would say dismissively.  “It takes a while to wear off.”

 

 *

Lily withdrew her head from the Floo after Dumbledore’s call.  A devoted wife would surely go to her husband under these circumstances.  She needed to play her role well.  She Flooed to the Hospital Wing and wandered until she found a sealed door to one of the private rooms.  It was warded, but she cast her Patronus and after a moment the wards flashed silver in response.  She stepped through.

His eyes were shut and there were some cuts bleeding sluggishly.  But what worried Lily most was the way Severus twitched: Cruciatus after-effects, not minor at all.  Madam Pomfrey had him semi-levitated, trying to pour a potion down his throat.  His head jerked, knocking the phial out of her hand.  Lily Accioed it neatly, then sailed it back to the matron’s outstretched hand.  The matron muttered to Dumbledore, “I don’t want to add a body-bind to everything else, but I might have to.”

“Wait,” Lily said.  She had belatedly recognized the potion:  it was a muscular anti-convulsant and a painkiller that worked directly on the nerves.  “Isn’t there a topical form?  Wouldn’t that be more effective anyhow, in the circumstances?”

“He’ll only allow the oral form, my dear.  Very stubborn man, your husband; he barely allows that.” 

Lily glanced at her perennially-chapped hands.  “He’ll allow me to apply the topical.  Or if he doesn’t, I don’t care.  Where is it?”

Severus fought physically, weakly, when he felt her hands on him; it was terrible to see.  She understood why Madam Pomfrey thought it better to desist.  Lily’s jaw tightened and she said sharply to him, “This is how it’s going to be, Severus.”

She didn’t think that he was actually conscious, but something penetrated; Severus’s struggles subsided, though the involuntary shaking did not.  Lily worked as quickly as she could, easing the balm over the clenched jaw and facial muscles, sliding down the long muscles of his back, over his limbs.  Touching him everywhere:  every sensory nerve in his body would be affected.  His muscles eased from convulsion to their normal tightness.  Madam Pomfrey, meanwhile, was busy too:  a warming spell for shock, knitting shut the cuts.

Lily remembered her naïve, girlish fantasy of months ago (two?):  of stroking Severus, lulling him, easing him with her body until he finally gave in and relaxed.  Now she welcomed her husband’s normal tension, after that horrid Cruciatus spasming.

When Lily had finished Severus lay rigidly on the bed, but the trembling was down to a sporadic shiver.  Madam Pomfrey levitated him again, charmed a hospital gown on him, and this time got a potion down his throat without mishap.  Lily identified it by the odor; her eyes widened a little at the dosage.  It was near maximum for his slight weight, and Lily hoped to hell that the matron had taken into consideration that he’d been losing weight again.

Lily looked at Severus uncertainly.  She was supposed to be playing the concerned wife.  In front of Dumbledore, it didn’t really matter; he knew the truth.  But the matron… she did need to keep up appearances in front of Pomfrey.  So Lily perched carefully on the side of the bed and slid down so she was half-curled against her husband, their bodies touching without pressure.  He sighed and his eyelids fluttered. 

One of his hands moved a little until the fingers touched her; his eyes opened.  They were glassy from potions and pain; Lily doubted that he was focusing at all.  She was sure of it when Severus muttered, “A bezoar.”  She shook her head a little, leaning over him further.  Her gesture shook loose some of her hair from her night plait.  He whispered, “Drawing out the poison,” and the black eyes slid shut again in the haggard face.  She stroked his face lightly.  That should look good for Pomfrey.

The matron said crisply, “What Severus really needs is to sleep now, Lily.”

“Quite so,” Lily answered.  “Tell me, how careful do I need to be not to put pressure on anything?  You haven’t told me how he’s hurt, besides the obvious.”

“We can discuss that in my office, Mrs. Snape.  Your husband needs his rest.”

Lily sat up reluctantly.  Severus moved restlessly when her hand left him, and Lily’s face hardened.  She regarded the matron speculatively.  Then she turned and Transfigured the hospital bed, making it wider.  “Does he have any internal injuries, Madam Pomfrey?  Anything besides the obvious cuts that I should avoid touching?”

The matron regarded her, thin-lipped.  After a moment Madam Pomfrey conceded the silent battle.  “No.  It’s mostly—the aftereffects of a worse than usual round of Cruciatus.  The cuts were someone playing, not serious, for… them.  And he has contusions from… um … but nothing that could injure him further.”

Lily settled herself back down beside Severus, carefully fitting herself in against him.  After a time she fell asleep.

He woke her in the night with choking sobs.  “Nor help from pain, Lily, not anything.  I know I don’t have anything.  Please don’t, please don’t pretend.…”  He was holding her convulsively.  Lily had wondered if that pain potion had been an overdose; now she was sure of it.  

His broken whispers trailed off in more sobs; then he wrenched himself upright and said earnestly, “So beautiful, so new.  You shouldn’t be here, Lily.  I tried to spare you.  I did try.  You shouldn’t be here.  Nor love, nor joy, nor light….”   His eyes were open but unfocused; he tried to shake her.  Something about the words sounded familiar, but Lily couldn’t place them, and she was frightened now by his raving.  After a moment’s thought Lily groped for her wand on the bedside stand and whispered, “Dormis.”  Severus sagged; she caught him and eased him back down.  There was just enough light from the dying moon for her to clean the tears from his face.  He would be mortified if he woke in the morning to realize that he had been crying. 

Lily whispered, “Obliviate,” and put back her wand.   She ran her hands over the bunched muscles in his back, trying to draw out the poison. 

 

*

Morning light streamed through the windows, and Severus was stiff beside Lily.  She blinked at him and sat up, pushing her hair off her face.   Her plait had come wholly undone; her hair had gone wild.  Severus’s face was expressionless, his eyes opaque.  He was back to normal, then. 

Really?  Lily regarded him skeptically. 

Severus asked stiffly, “Did I have the chance to debrief with Dumbledore first, do you know?”

“Dumbledore was the one who Flooed me, so I assume so.”

Severus closed his eyes again and muttered, “I hope so.  Shock can blur memories, and I’d rather not have to Pensieve those ones.”

Not quite back to normal, then; that was much more than he’d usually say.  She reached her hand to touch his cheek.  He opened his eyes again.  “Unnecessary, Lily.”  An arched eyebrow and jerk of his chin indicated their audience, or lack thereof, and he added smoothly, “I’m really quite all right.” 

Of course; there would be auditory monitoring spells on the room. 

Last night.  What he’d said.

Well, there was nothing to be done about that now.

That he was all right, however, was a barefaced lie; he hadn’t moved since she woke.  Madam Pomfrey bustled in at that moment, and Lily shot Severus a look of triumph, ostentatiously continuing her caress of his face.  He looked annoyed and she almost giggled. Her hand stroked his jaw.

Madam Pomfrey said, “Lily, I do need you out of here for at least twenty minutes now.  I suggest you go change, and then you may return for breakfast.  I intend to keep your husband for at least the rest of the day.”  Severus glowered at Pomfrey; Lily tilted her head, considering which side of that battle to join in on.  Well, she’d decide at breakfast.  She slid her hand against his cheek, smiled, and told Pomfrey, “Twenty minutes, then.”

 

*

Lily crunched her toast aggressively.  Severus was only allowed porridge. “If he tortures his followers this much, why the hell did you first join him?”

Severus said with unwonted mildness, “Well, I don’t actually claim it was my best decision.  Actually, I don’t think many of us do, at this point….”** His eyes were a bit glassy again; Pomfrey had given him another dose of pain-killing potion. 

Lily decided she rather liked Severus high; he was talking with her more, and more openly than usual, and when she cupped her hand along his jaw he shut his eyes and leaned into her hand like a cat.  She rubbed her thumb against his stubble.  “Why are the effects so much worse this time?” 

If she asked it as a dispassionate question he was much more likely to answer.  Her thumb continued to stroke.

“Multiple casters, longer duration… and intent.  Can be cast focusing on immediate effect, the usual, or on—residual.  If it’s just regular punishment, usually the former.  If it’s… educational… he wants the latter.  I mean that’s how he uses it if he really wants us to remember something….”   Her hand had stilled; he stopped talking and nudged his face against it, just like a cat.  She should rub behind his ears to see if he responded favorably to that too.

He did. 

Lily used both hands, thumbs rubbing behind his ears, fingers massaging his neck.  He sighed. 

“What did he want you to remember, Severus?”

His eyes snapped open, black.  “Nothing important.  I told Dumbledore.”

He lifted his head a little, away from her hands, and regarded her suspiciously with glassy eyes. 

He needed to eat.  Lily had distracted him, and he was far too thin already.  Lily sat back and grabbed more toast, watching him.  “You need to eat, Severus.”

His hand trembled when he lifted the spoon obediently.  The post-Cruciatus tremolo was almost gone, so it was mostly weakness.  Lily frowned at him.  “Here, Severus, you need to save your strength.  Let me feed you.”

She grabbed the spoon and lifted the disregarded porridge to his mouth.  He swatted weakly at her hand, saying indignantly, “Christ, woman, I’m not a baby!”

 

Maybe she didn’t like him better high. 

 

Severus turned ghastly pale and sank back against his pillows, black eyes dying. 

Lily said shakily, “Actually, Harry was feeding himself by then.  He was pretty stubborn about it too.  Like you.”  She got up and left the room.

 

*

The view from the Astronomy Tower was mostly dun bare branches, but there were dark evergreens mixed in too.  Lily let her eyes drift over the inchoate sea of color.   She shivered in the cold wind, but she didn’t want to go back down to _his_ dungeon to fetch a cloak.  Her baby’s killer, with that damned Prophecy.  Her husband’s killer.    How had she let herself forget that even for a minute? 

Her husband.

The door behind her creaked; after a moment, a light warm weight settled about her shoulders.  Dumbledore had conjured her a midnight-blue cloak.  She should have thought of that; she could charm as well as he could.  Well, almost.  Lily could see the old man’s beard from the corner of her eye, but she stubbornly refused to turn her head.  Dumbledore said, sighing.  “Poppy was astonished at getting two good doses of pain-relieving potion down his throat, and now she probably never will again.  You saw how, even unconscious or semi-conscious, he fights treatment he doesn’t trust.  I don’t know if that’s a Death Eater reflex—I could see that being a survival instinct, for them—or if it’s just Severus.  Which I also could see.”

She didn’t answer or turn her head. 

“He usually refuses all pain medication when he’s tortured.  He probably will again.  Unless you persuade him.”

“Does Severus often get tortured like this?”

“Like this?  This badly?  Not that often, no.”

“Don’t play with me, Dumbledore.”

“I believe the way Severus phrased it when we two discussed this issue was, ‘The Dark Lord believes in negative incentives, yes.’”

“I’m not Severus.  Say it in plain English.”

“In plain English, then.  Lord Voldemort is in the habit of torturing his followers anytime they fail to fulfill his expectations.  Since Severus has become my agent, he strives to fulfill my expectations rather than Lord Voldemort’s.  Whether it’s a research project that doesn’t quite work as hoped, or information he can’t quite gather, Severus’s performance fairly regularly doesn’t meet Lord Voldemort’s highest expectations.  Each time that happens, Severus expects to be tortured.  He’s seldom disappointed. 

“Severus still performs at a high enough level of apparent competence for Voldemort not to kill him, indeed still to trust him—but Voldemort’s blindness is the corollary to what he claims to be my own.  He thinks I trust people too readily, that I believe too much in the power of love.  Voldemort, conversely, is blinded by his assumption that only weaklings are swayed by affection.  The strong, he thinks, are motivated by ambition and self-interest.  A strong man might follow Voldemort out of self-interest.  He might desert Voldemort out of self-interest—if he thought that he could either escape detection or survive it.  It’s very much Voldemort’s policy to make sure no one thinks either of those things.  Still, a strong man might possibly play a double game with him, hoping to double back to the winning side when the last cards fall.  If he’s suspicious of Severus at all, it’s that Severus might be doing that:  keeping a foot in both camps, keeping sweet with me and with him, so that whichever side wins he can claim he supported it all along.

“So Voldemort has no way, none at all, to understand why a strong man might repeatedly court the Cruciatus with deliberate errors.  To help someone else, to serve a cause.  There’s simply no self-interested reason to do that.  There’s no self-interested reason to sacrifice oneself by truly turning from the Death Eaters, knowing that only the timing of one’s death remains uncertain.  There is no self-interested reason, and so Voldemort imagines that there is no reason.  That blindness on Lord Voldemort’s part is Severus’s only real protection.  But it’s only a temporary protection, Lily.  You know this.  Severus is under a death sentence whose date of execution only is uncertain.  And you know what motivated him to incur it

Lily hadn’t realized she had gradually turned towards the old man until the blue eyes pierced her on the last words.  She turned away hastily, propping herself against the parapet.  She whispered, “He deserves it.”

The headmaster said mildly, “Well, Severus certainly wouldn’t disagree with that assessment.”

They stood quietly together, the wind whipping their cloaks. 

After a time, Dumbledore’s voice drifted gently. “Did Severus tell you what Voldemort had asked him to do this time, what failure led to this degree of punishment?”

Her voice came thinly.  “No.”

After a moment she added, “I tried to find out, but he wouldn’t say.”

“No,” the Headmaster’s calm voice said.  “I imagine that he would not.  Briefly, Lily, Voldemort expected that your marriage to Severus would give him an entrée into the Order of the Phoenix.  Either that your friends there would learn to accept Severus, or that you, ensorcelled by Severus’s potions, would return to their ranks and allow your new husband to pluck from your mind information on their activities, unwittingly betraying them.  Voldemort is frustrated, furious, that Severus has made no progress on either method of infiltrating the Order. 

“Severus refuses, absolutely, to allow you to be put in that position.  It might be something that we could turn to use, but he prefers suffering the Cruciatus.  But Lord Voldemort is growing impatient on this issue.  Actually, I believe that he sends Severus to us in this state to try to force _your_ hand.  Severus has been offering the explanation that your old friends have been so appalled by your marriage that they have not forgiven you.    I think Lord Voldemort rather expects you, after last night, to do anything you could to secure Severus from such torture.  To abase yourself to your old friends, if need be, to secure their trust again.”

Lily was silent.

“ _Nor help from pain, Lily,”_  Severus had sobbed, _“not anything.  Don’t pretend.”_

_“I tried to spare you.”_

Had anyone, ever, tried to spare him anything?  Certainly not Dumbledore.  Certainly not her. 

 

*

The topical form of the anti-convulsant and anodyne would be more effective, and Severus undoubtedly needed another dose, even if he was too stubborn to take the oral painkiller he needed with it.

He could defy Pomfrey as much as he wanted.  The black eyes closed in defeat when Lily approached.

His face, his jaw, clenched. 

Legs, arms, torso, her hands sliding under that awful hospital gown.  She needed to smooth the balm everywhere, to be sure.  How badly was he hurting?  He wouldn’t say, and he wouldn’t let her see.  Lily redoubled her efforts.  He had been ignoring her hands assiduously, face turned away from her.  When her hand moved down a little more, he said suddenly, “Accio wand!” 

Before she could react, he’d muttered something she couldn’t quite make out.  She shook him imperiously.  “What did you just do, Severus?”

His face was grey.  He said hoarsely, “I don’t plan to put on a show in the Hospital wing.  It’s usually used against enemies, as a curse.”

Her hand moved down, sliding the balm over the velvet skin, softer than the skin on his thighs or belly.  His cock didn’t stir in her hands.  An impotence charm then; usually used against enemies?  What a nasty thought.  She rubbed the potion over his skin, biting her lip.  Would Finite Incantatem banish it, leaving him helpless, responding to her touch? 

Eventually she pulled him onto his side, into her arms, moving so she was curved against his front, finishing by sliding the balm over his back and buttocks.    

She could go further.  She could incant Finite.  She could stroke him until he was just that little bit closer, and erect.  He would be inside her.  Lily’s leg curved around him and her back arched, pulling him closer.  She could have him whole, right now—if she didn’t care about his consent.  

He was asleep, relaxed against Lily’s warmth, his body moving slightly, easily, as her hands moved over him.  His breath fluttered against her hair.  Lily’s hands lingered on Severus’s back; his skin was interrupted, over and over, by harder scars where he’d been hurt.   He sighed and turned onto his back; her body followed his.     

No show in the Hospital wing. 

Tiny, contented noises vibrated against her mouth.  When had she started pressing her lips against that stubbled hollow where his pulse beat so sweetly and so stubbornly?   Lily couldn’t remember deciding to kiss Severus there.

But no doubt, none at all, it would look good to Madam Pomfrey.  Lily would seem a devoted wife. That was important, Lily remembered that.

No help for pain? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **“Actually, I don’t think many of us do, at this point….” A lot less guarded than Severus’s norm, but there’s strong canon support for that. C.f. the graveyard scene: of all Voldemort’s supporters, Death Eaters and others, we know that exactly four could be arsed to look for Voldie after he’d disappeared. Everyone else, apparently, thought that they and the world were better off without Riddle.
> 
> And who, in fact, could gainsay that point of view?
> 
> Severus is quoting from the poem “Dover Beach” when he’s rambling: “… for this world, which seems/to lie before us like a land of dreams/so various, so beautiful, so new/hath really neither love, nor light, nor hope, /nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”


	7. Preparations:  February 22-24, 1982

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus prepares Lily for what he expects to be her fate.

_“You solve it.”_

Severus added a pale hair and stirred delicately. It dissolved; the Polyjuice potion turned a creamy color. Severus stripped off his robes and downed it. Lily understood the precaution when his shape changed: the blond stood a good four inches taller than Severus, and was beefy with it. He’d have split Severus’s robes. But really this made no sense. Taking the potion now, Severus subtracted ten minutes at best, perhaps more, for him to get to Hogwarts bounds to Apparate. He should have gone to the bounds before drinking it and going wherever he needed to be disguised. What a stupid waste of time! Lily opened her mouth to criticize his planning. Then the strange body raised Severus’s wand.

 

A blandly handsome, blue-eyed face swam over her. Lily blinked in confusion and opened her mouth. “No words,” the man said. “No talking. Please, Lily, to please me. You can make whatever sounds you like, but not words. Mmm—except yes, no, and please. You can say those. You understand, Lily?”

What was he doing?—but she couldn’t ask. No words. Lily nodded; a moment later she remembered he’d allowed her yes. “Yes,” she breathed.

“Relax, Lily,” he said. “Relax. I want you to relax. Yes, like that, Lily.” His hands were stroking her belly and breasts. When had she lost her clothes? They were in their bed, and they were naked.

What was Severus doing? But he wanted her to relax. She clung, letting the unfamiliar pale-furred hands move across her body. He started explaining what he planned to do, what he wanted her to feel, and her body moved under his sure touch. He touched his wand to her body and she moaned in pleasure.

Lily said yes, and please. He mostly cried Lily’s name.

 

*

His body convulsed and changed, fining, the body thinning, the hairs darkening against the white flesh. Lily tried to hold him to her, but back in his own body Severus rolled away gasping.

Then he turned back to her, eyes darkly burning. They met hers and probed. After a moment he snorted. “Shame to waste a good Complicio—you’re still high as a kite on it, love. A little more?”

Her eyes widened, still fastened on his. “Yes,” she gasped, not sure if she were speaking aloud. His hands drifted for a few moments, then left her. She moaned and reached for him. He whispered, “Wait then, Lily. Wait. Just for a minute.”

An Indian princeling returned to her: soft, dark, pretty as a girl. His long-lashed eyes caught hers with Severus’s fierce gaze and she laughed to see it. He encouraged her to touch his smooth brown skin everywhere; he pressed his velvety length against her, and then inside her.

Yes, and please.

Lily laughed, giving herself to the supple hands.

The dark hands moved over her, the soft stranger’s voice murmured endlessly how sweet, how beautiful, were her breasts, her belly, her hair, her lips. He kept praising her, stroking her, with the alien voice and hands. He shivered with passion, but his hands moved deftly, surely, when she pressed herself against them.

 

*

He held a phial to her lips, and Lily came suddenly back into focus. She started screaming. She was far too enraged to think of her wand; she hit him with her fists and dug her nails across his face. One of his arms

protected his eyes; otherwise Severus passively accepted her anger.

She was hoarse by the time she could form coherent words; her hands and his face were bruised and bloody. “If you ever do that again,” she sobbed, “I’ll hex your bollocks off! How could you? How could you? What were you thinking?”

He made no attempt to answer her.

Severus slept on the sofa in their study that night, if he slept, and Lily slept poorly.

He took his breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the head table in the Great Hall. Lily asked for a tray in their quarters for all three meals.

 

*

Severus spent his evening in his office, presumably grading, then went off patrolling. The clock she had charmed told Lily so. Not that she was watching it.

In the night she woke to an odd but familiar taste in her mouth. The candles were blazing, so Lily could see clearly. The man touching her had a superb body—like an Olympic triathlon’s, the muscles prominent, but balanced and graceful. Lily had watched the telly with Petunia, giggling guiltily away from their parents over some of the men. This one’s dark skin and narrow skull reminded her of that young Auror, Shacklebolt. He was strong and untiring as he pleasured her.

 

*

The next body was middle-aged, stocky but vigorous. His thick chestnut hair was streaked with gray. He had an air of quiet authority, and he touched her skillfully, gently, repeatedly. His bass voice repeated her name with a note of reverence.

 

*

Severus didn’t give her the antidote, but the Complicio potion had worn off by the time she next woke. He wasn’t there to hit, so Lily had to think instead.

How dare he?

No, but seriously—how dare he? When she put her foot down, Severus always gave in. Why hadn’t he this time?

Because she was allowing it.

Lily could have stopped him; she could always stop him. Why hadn’t she?

 

Because she liked it. Ask a stupid question….

 

Because she liked it.  Not the strangers’ bodies he was wearing, but how Severus was being with her. He was being the lover she had imagined, back months ago when she had imagined that they would become lovers: intensely focused on her, passionate, inventive, besotted. In his proper person he always tried to hold back; masked as these strangers, he was himself.

And Lily liked that.

Was that why he was doing it, then? That using those other bodies freed him? And they all were handsome, in their different ways—was he still self-conscious about the taunting he’d endured about his appearance back when they were teens?

But that felt wrong to her. Severus might have entertained such ideas, but he wouldn’t have implemented them without her permission. He damned sure wouldn’t have forced her, or continued in the face of her anger. This didn’t have to do with Sev’s gratification at all.

James… might have done something like this, if she could ever have imagined James preferring another body to his own. Unless, ugh, Sirius…? Somehow Lily could imagine that: James Polyjuicing Sirius.

Severus didn’t think that way at all.

What, then? What was Sev doing?

Well, that was obvious.  He was using potions and spells and pleasure. As he had done before. To condition her. To condition her to what?

 

Ask a stupid question…. to accept strange bodies in her bed.

And why should a married woman be conditioned to accept strange bodies in her bed?

One answer leapt forward from the Marauder’s more lurid speculations about Death Eaters’ meetings. But Severus would die before subjecting her to anything like that.

 

Which was the other answer, of course.

 

*

Lily had a private cabinet in their bedroom, sealed and warded even against her husband. As Severus had against his wife. Lily knew that Severus kept his Death Eater regalia there. She’d never wondered before, not seriously, what else might be in there.

And he’d trusted her not to try to breach it, as she’d trusted him not to try hers.

It took quite a bit of time and perseverance to get through the wards on Severus’s door, but Lily lacked neither. The box she eventually unearthed took yet more perseverance to open. Fortunately, she was correct in her surmise that all his wards were partly keyed to her: they would never hurt her. They were set to notify him, however, should she attempt them. It took her hours to bypass that.

By then it was early afternoon, and Lily was shaky and headachy from not eating all day. But she had no interest in food. She had to enlarge their bedside table to spread out the spoils she’d unearthed.

A will, dated to December. An unsealed letter. Several Muggle technical journals about psychology: in the top one, an article on brainwashing was marked. The second had an article marked on something called deprogramming. A series of potions phials, in individual doses, marked in his emphatic writing. Calming elixir; dreamless sleep; several others. Some of them she knew he’d dosed her with when he was “courting” her. One of them was an intensified version of a potion given to children suffering nightmares. Lily remembered how, in the first intensity of her grief, burrowing against Severus had warmed and soothed her. But this newest version was not, like the first, keyed to activate only in another’s presence. It was pure comfort.

The letter read, “Lily. The potions I gave you earlier interrupted your natural mourning, so you are likely to find your emotions in worse turmoil. If you need these potions to support yourself through the worst, they are in graduated doses; take the strongest first, so that you de-habituate yourself rather than the reverse. Muggle research indicates that, given a strong personality initially, most of the effects of brainwashing techniques are thrown off when the subject returns to normal conditions. I should recommend that you leave Hogwarts, return to your friends; simply surrounding yourself with more ordinary influences should in time allow you to revert to your native state of mind.

“The sexual conditioning I inflicted on you seemed more problematic, so Polyjuice seemed the best option for reversing it, but I apologize for the distress I gave you. If the residue of my influence still seems troublesome when you come to consider a new partner, the unmarked opaque phial may help to ease the transition. It will be good for two years.

“S.”

It would be fascinating to analyze exactly what was in that last.

Lily didn’t move to pick it up.

 

*

She was still sitting on the bed staring at Severus’s provisions for her impending widowhood when her husband came in from his classes. "Lily?" he called, sounding a little surprised she wasn't in their sitting room or lab.

Or waiting behind the door to hex his bollocks off, as she had last threatened.

She didn't answer. She heard him hang up his teaching robes and stride to their bedchamber.

He came through the door and stopped dead, but his expression didn't flicker. "I am well-served for my vanity," he commented lightly. "I actually thought those wards would hold against even Dumbledore for a time." Lily answered, "When you taught me Occlumency, you taught Legilimency too, Severus. And there were some parts of your memories and feelings you were so bent on hiding from me, you didn't always pay attention to the rest. I was able to make a pretty good guess at the structure and passwords you’d use."

He smirked a moment in her direction. "I told you ten years ago, Lily, that you should have sorted into Slytherin. You should admit that I was right."

He had yet to meet her eyes. Lily charged in. "Why are you expecting to die soon, Severus?"

He shrugged easily. "I've been expecting to die soon for over a year now. It's become a habit."

She bounced off the bed and threw one of his phials at him. He caught it effortlessly. "Which does not explain why it's suddenly so urgent you'd pull something like that Polyjuice stunt! Or get these ready! Some of them are perishable, Sev. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

Severus shrugged again. He turned the phial in his fingers and regarded it with interest. Lily faced him, breathing rapidly. She stalked several steps forward, and he gave in.

He still wouldn’t look at her, but he spoke. "There are several things that the Dark Lord may ask of me that I cannot do. I can put him off for a time with research and, ah, abortive attempts, but eventually he will decide that I have failed, which is never conducive to longevity among his followers. Or worse, he will conclude that I am reluctant, which will be instantly fatal. Fortunately, one of the Dark Lord's greater weaknesses is that he tends to get obsessed with one plan or object and lose sight of all others. Right now he is focused on… another matter. When he returns his attention to the tasks he has for me, I shall not last long."

"What tasks?" Lily whispered.

Severus shook his head adamantly. Lily compressed her lips and tried another tack. "What does Dumbledore say? Does he have a plan?"

"The only plan Dumbledore has confided to me is to give the Dark Lord what he wants on one of the matters in dispute. This I will not do, so we are at an impasse."

_Severus refuses, absolutely._ Lily raised her head challengingly. "Me rejoining the Order of the Phoenix. Why are you so set against it, if Dumbledore thinks it might be a good idea?"

"Lily," Severus sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tensing. "You have no idea, none. Have you ever played chess?"

"James taught me—” she began automatically and stopped, her tongue tangling. _I never talk about James with Severus. Sod that._ "James taught me, but I was pretty bad at it. I found it boring, actually. I always lost." "But if you played at all, you know that sometimes your strategy requires you to sacrifice a piece deliberately." "Well, I didn't really get good enough to develop strategies, but yes."

"Both of my masters know that the other mistakenly thinks I am _his_ agent. In order to maintain this fiction, it is necessary to occasionally give me valid information to give the other. The information hand-fed me sometimes results in the sacrifice of a piece. Should you rejoin the Order, you shall eventually give me information to pass to the Dark Lord that results in the death of one of your friends. You could not support that."

Lily looked at Severus. He played with the phial, still not returning her gaze.

Lily whispered, "You've done that. You've betrayed some who were your friends, and they've died as a result. You have their blood on your hands."

Severus went marble-white. He met her eyes finally; his eyes had the dead look of someone Occluding completely. That was part of what he'd been so obsessed with hiding from her, then: that he had done that, and what it had cost him. Even now, he faced her expressionlessly. But his hands clenched on the phial.

"Blood of friends on your hands,” Lily repeated, stepping forward and taking them. "For my sake."

"No!" Severus said harshly, pulling his hands back. The phial shattered on the floor in a sticky puddle. "Not for your sake. As I recall, the one thing you ever requested of me was that I save my breath. My subsequent choices, and their consequences, are therefore no concern of yours.”

She recoiled at the snub, almost sobbing. His eyes blazed now, at once furious and remote. They met hers challengingly; he was conceding nothing.

Lily slowly realized, _He’s done it again. He’s distracted me. He’s good at that. He has to be; his life rides on it almost daily. What is he distracting me from this time…?_

_Why is it so urgent? Why is he suddenly_ sure _that he will die soon?_

“Fine, then,” she flung at him. “I won’t be concerned.”

His hands relaxed infinitesimally, and she struck. “About that. Were you really planning to kill yourself without even saying good-bye? Is this—” her hand slashed scathingly at the letter on the bed, “the best you can do for a suicide note? How did you think I would feel?”

His mouth opened wordlessly, which meant that her wild accusation was right. Lily went cold to her bones. He said finally, the words reluctantly dragged out, “It should have seemed an accident. Eventually you’d feel nothing but relief.”

She almost leapt on him with a diatribe against weak cowards, but she stopped herself, the words frozen on her lips. That wouldn’t be the reason, not with Sev. Instead she waited, shaking, for him to continue. Eventually he added, “I thought it would seem only natural that my will should be up to date, and the rest of it. Given the dangers I run. Lily, how did you know?”

“You just now told me.”

Something flickered in his face. He turned his left hand to her, palm out, in an odd gesture of submission. “Well played, then.”

She ignored him. “So what’s changed, then? What is it?”

He turned and leaned against his wall. “Dumbledore monitors what I know about the Order and the Ministry. If I were—when I am—taken—detected—by the Dark Lord, Dumbledore knows what I will tell. There would be damage, but he could contain it. If I could hold out even for a short time, for a day even, most of a day, hours, he could contain almost all of the damage. You—eventually the Dark Lord would arrive at you, Lily. But you’d still have whatever protection Hogwarts can afford. And he’d mostly—I’m the chief offender. He’d mostly want you to punish me. If I managed to die or go insane, which I well might, there would be little point in taking you.

“So when he took me—when he broke me—I’d be the only one hurt. Or the main one.   Probably.  If I died fast enough.”

Sev fell silent.

Lily insisted, “So what’s changed, Severus?”

His voice grated. “He was intrigued by my turning my enemy’s widow to my wife. He liked that idea. Turning hate to love. He asked if I could transfer your—loyalty—from me to him.”

Lily’s stomach churned.

Severus said faintly, “I told him that I had used our childhood friendship and that you had no such legitimate bond with him to abuse.”

Lily forced out, “But?”

Severus was shaking, clinging to his wall. He whispered, “But I think it might be possible. In general. To turn someone. Not to overwhelm someone’s will temporarily with Imperius, to change it. I can see, I can see, a promising direction of research. And I cannot let him know that. If he took me now—if he got a whisper of that possibility—I have to die. I have to. I can’t let him know it might be possible. He would use it.” Lily sat very still for a time, fighting nausea and trying to think. She said finally, "I can't fault your reasoning that his getting that idea would be—very bad. But I question whether your death would be the only, or best, solution." "You can think of others?"

"There's at least one obvious one. Stop being a quadruple agent. That would keep you out of his grasp, which would solve the immediate problem. At least unless Hogwarts fell, and you could suicide then if you had to." His mouth twisted, but he at least considered what she said. He replied finally, "There are several problems with that approach, of which the most serious is that it would afford no guarantee of protecting the information. There would always be the risk of capture; we can safely infer that if the Dark Lord discovered I had betrayed him, capturing me would become one of the highest of his priorities. It would be foolish to assume I could evade him forever or that I could suicide in time. And I can guarantee that if he captured me alive, he would eventually uncover anything that I might wish to conceal."

"But if you never left Hogwarts grounds—," Lily argued.

"Still not a guarantee; what if he should smuggle in a Portkey? Indeed, Dumbledore’s affording me that degree of protection would certainly indicate to the Dark Lord that he should be interested in re-capturing me. I think, I am almost sure, that it was Dumbledore's suppressing information on Wizarding births that eventually led the Dark Lord to conclude that Dumbledore interpreted the prophecy's mention of "approaching" to refer to a birth rather than the physical approach of a champion. We knew, the Dark Lord knew, that I'd only heard a portion of the prophecy whereas Dumbledore knew the whole, so quite a lot of the Dark Lord's resources were spent on trying to determine how Dumbledore interpreted the prophecy. Anything Dumbledore does is scrutinized for clues to his intentions—as of course are the Dark Lord's actions by Dumbledore."

Lily had gone white; she wrapped her arms around herself and started rocking. She stared at him and whispered, "Then Dumbledore essentially led You-Know-Who to us?"

Severus strode to her and grabbed her hands. Lily leaned against him, turning her head to his chest. He pulled her into his embrace and said urgently against her hair, "Not in any way he could have prevented. Once Dumbledore had decided the prophecy might refer to your child or the Longbottom's, he really had two choices only: to protect you from the Dark Lord as best he might, which must eventually alert the Dark Lord to the fact that he considered your families worthy of protection, or to hope the Dark Lord stayed in ignorance of your importance, which would require him to leave you with no protection at all. And given that both your family and the Longbottoms had already "thrice defied" the Dark Lord, Dumbledore really _couldn't_ leave you unprotected: the Dark Lord might have targeted you for reprisals and killed the prophesied child by bloody _accident._ “No, Lily, he had to try to protect your family, and there was no way to prevent the Dark Lord from eventually figuring out why. Don't blame him for that part." Lily was still trembling; Severus stroked her hair. Lily finally asked, remotely, “So what does Dumbledore say about this, then?”

Her husband stiffened. Lily straightened and repeated, “What does he say?”

“I haven’t told him.”

_“What?”_ “I think—I’m afraid—that the possibility—would intrigue Dumbledore too.”

“You can’t mean that!” Lily pulled back from her husband, staring.

He met her eyes grimly. “After the way he manipulated you, yes, I mean exactly that.”

“How he manipulated me? What on earth do you mean, Severus? If we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone!” He lifted one eyebrow and said, “I wouldn’t disagree with that last, no.”

“How he manipulated me, how? What are you talking about?”

Severus’s face went empty. He stood up, moved away from her, and said, “Your being here now.”

Lily said, “I—he—Dumbledore didn’t manipulate me into this, not exactly. He offered me a free choice; he told me he’d help if I chose the other option. I didn’t—didn’t much like either of the choices he offered, but he didn’t force me in any way. I wanted to, to help the Order, and this was the only way I really could.” Her husband leaned his shoulders against the wall and folded his arms. He would have looked casual but for the white pressure of his fingers. He would have bruises on both arms. “I brewed the potion you ingested, Lily. I invented it. I knew its effects exactly. So did Dumbledore.”

His head tilted backwards. She could see his Adam’s-apple bob as he forced himself to speak.

“He had requested a sample and the recipe: to check my antidote, he said. I was glad to have him oversee it; I wanted to be checked. I told him that you had to have the antidote immediately, before any influence could trigger the potion’s effects. I heard, I thought I heard, that he had agreed, that he had promised. What he actually said was, ‘Yes, Severus, I fully understand the importance of that.’ No promises at all, you see.” Severus swallowed.

“He did a beautiful job on you. Using my cloak—that was masterful. Better than what I had thought of. You were in physical shock, as well as overwhelmed with sorrow. I’m sure he put a warming spell on it. So he put my cloak over you, and your cold and shock were eased. Then you smelled me on it, and the potion was activated, and the worst of your grief was assuaged. Then he instructed you to think about me, and you did, and you were glad to. You knew where your comfort came from, and you trusted it. You clung to it the whole time he was explaining about the plan.”

Lily interrupted sharply, “Severus, stop. Dumbledore explained all that. Why he didn’t give me the antidote right away. It was so I could make an informed choice, so I could understand what I’d be letting myself in for. If I chose that.”

Severus turned a little farther away, his face grinding against the stone. “No, Lily. I saw your memory when I used Legilimency on you, but I should have seen it from the start. I did see it. He did it to make you _want_ to choose that, very urgently. It’s normal, natural, for anyone, for an animal even, to seek pleasure and to avoid pain. It’s natural, healthy usually, to want help for pain and fear. He kept you under my potion’s influence for nearly an hour, first while you were semi-conscious from shock, then while he talked. That was more than long enough to teach you that I—that it—that the potion—was your only source of comfort, of warmth, of feeling protected. “And then he threatened you with my torture and death. And then he told you he would take your comfort away, but that you could have it back. And then he assured you that accepting that comfort was the only way to get revenge against the one who killed your family and to be useful to the Order, and your only alternative was a useless exile among strangers. _Then,_ finally, he gave you the antidote, so you could feel how terrible your pain was without my potion’s support. And then, when you _still_ resisted making the choice he wanted, he gave you a reason to hate me. To give you the excuse that punishing me was why you were choosing it…. “So you had two reasons involving me, saving me from torture and torturing me yourself. And two good   reasons to tell yourself you were doing it for, revenge and duty. And you’d spent an hour experiencing just how much better you felt under the potion’s influence, and were told the alternative was cold exile with no comfort or friends at all.

“You think that was a free choice, Lily? Especially when all those either/or options were false? There were always other possible paths.”

Lily said sturdily, “Severus, you seem to have convinced yourself of this, but you’re just being paranoid. No wonder, dealing so long with the Dark Lord, but this is Dumbledore. I was there, you weren’t: I volunteered.” Severus hesitated. “Maybe, Lily. Maybe.” That was more of a capitulation than she had expected. He sat back down beside her on the bed, looking suddenly exhausted. She opened her mouth, but he shook his head wearily and shut his eyes. He sank back on the bed, pulling her with him. She bit her lip. If he didn’t trust Dumbledore, no wonder he saw no other out than suicide. What could she say to convince him?

One of his hands smoothed her hair, the other started stroking her back lightly. He never volunteered to touch her: by that alone she could tell the depth of his distress. She moved a little, shifting her weight atop him. Her face was against his chest now; she told him, “We’ll think of something, Severus.”

“Maybe, Lily. Maybe,” he sighed, tightening his arms.

“No maybes,” she said against his chest. His heartbeat was accelerating; she felt her own keep pace. His hand tilted her head back a little. She met his eyes. She had to scoot up a little to reach his lips; his hands helped her. “No maybes,” she repeated a little breathlessly. Severus’s lips finally opened; she kissed him again before he could say anything else negative. The way she was straddling him, she could feel the heat of his body through his light inner robe. He slid one hand over her leg, pushing her robes up out of the way as he stroked her. “No maybes,” he finally agreed, his warm hands sliding over her, and she kissed him harder. Her own hands were cupping his face, and her hips had started to rock eagerly against his warmth.

Severus said suddenly in a hard voice, swinging them both upright, “No, no maybes at all. If he saw you doing this, how would James feel?”

Lily gasped and started shaking. “That—that’s brutal, Sev!”

He grasped her wrists, pushing her farther away from him on the bed. “But effective, I think. Lily, Potter worked for over a year towards the Dark Lord’s defeat. Would he have wanted you to fuck his worst enemy, even to keep a useful spy’s cover? Would he have wanted you to want to, to like it? Or would he have seen it as a betrayal?”

She started to sob. He shook her a little. “Lily, the truth! Would James have wanted you to do this to help the Order, or would he have seen it as a betrayal? Answer me! The truth!”

Her voice grated out, “A betrayal.”

“So immediately after your beloved husband’s death you were willing to betray him with his enemy! Do you honestly contend that you were in your right mind when you decided that? And Dumbledore knew—exactly how weak I was. He knew that if I could tell myself that you wanted it, no matter your reasons, I couldn’t resist. Even if I knew I should. That’s why I turned to him in the first place, he knew that: because I didn’t trust myself. To put your good ahead of my—desires. But I thought he would. I thought he would protect you. Instead he trapped you.”

Lily said weakly, “But he wouldn’t really. W—why would he? What for?”

Severus’s hands held her pinned away from him.

“Partly because he was right, the Dark Lord was expecting that outcome. There were ways around that, but this way was easiest, and I don’t think Dumbledore wanted to bother. Mostly because, whoever holds you, holds me.  My … absolute obedience. I was careful never to let the Dark Lord get the least breath of suspicion of that, or he would have held you as his hostage. But Dumbledore knew it from my first approach to him.  And so _he_ holds you hostage.”

“Holds me hostage? Dumbledore doesn’t hold me hostage. He’d never threaten me—that’s just insane, Sev.”

“He doesn’t need to threaten you explicitly. Just holding you is enough. Lily. If the Dark Lord held you, he’d make threats, not because he’d need to make them explicit to secure my obedience, but because he would enjoy making them. He’d enjoy tasting our fear and pain. Dumbledore wouldn’t enjoy it, so he doesn’t make those threats. But neither of them _needs_ to threaten for me to understand the situation.”

“Dumbledore would never hurt me!” Lily said fervently.

“He already has. You’re here. Dumbledore has sufficiently demonstrated that he sets his schemes above your well-being. He doesn’t need to _do_ anything. And all he need do, really, is withdraw his protection: what if he gave in to the Board of Governors on the impropriety of a spouse living in the castle, and said you had to move to Hogsmeade? How could I keep you safe there? The Dark Lord is curious about you; sooner or later he’d want to see you…. He’s asked me once already to bring you to him, and I accepted.

“I told him that I was eager to show off the effects of my potions, my genius—but that Dumbledore might wonder that I’d subject my beloved wife to the Dark Lord’s ministrations, even to keep my cover. A devoted husband would surely die instead. And I couldn’t bring you through the Hogwarts wards without Dumbledore’s knowledge. I asked the Dark Lord his will, and he withdrew his request.”

Lily shivered. Severus continued passionately, “Or—this attempt to get you to spy upon the Order. If we want to give the Dark Lord a monitored conduit into the Order, there are several ways to set it up. The Dark Lord favors the—humor—of this particular approach; Dumbledore wants me to keep my other master happy, plus Dumbledore thinks using you as the intermediary will give us a little more plausible control over the information flow. Mind, other ways would work just fine; there’s no real need to involve you. And it would destroy you. But Dumbledore has you half-convinced by now, doesn’t he, playing the same strings as before: your duty to the Order and my torture?”

Lily hesitated and then nodded. Severus said more quietly, “Dumbledore is ruthless. I suppose we need that in the commander of a war against someone like the Dark Lord. But he likes to think he has consent, he likes to have approval as well as obedience, and he’s not over-scrupulous in how he manipulates the information he feeds people, or how he sways them emotionally, to get it. He manipulated you, Lily, using your grief and my potions, to consent to something you’d have rejected had you been capable of consideration. He manipulated me, using my—greed, my greatest weakness: he didn’t try himself to persuade me to engage in the charade with you, nor give me any chance to find alternate solutions to the difficulties. He manipulated you, and sent you to me, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist the appearance of your consent.

“I think if I showed Dumbledore a way to enforce loyalty, so long as the victims seemed willing at the end, he’d be content to use it. I can’t give _him_ that either.”

“But—if they were actually willing—is that so bad?”

“Lily.” His hands cupped her jaw; his eyes were huge, holding hers urgently. His hands started massaging her neck, her hairline. She closed her eyes a moment, relaxing into his hands. He said into the red darkness behind her eyelids, “If a Death Eater kidnapped—Moody, say. Kidnapped him, fed him potions, worked on him; at the end of it Moody proclaimed passionately that he’d been wrong before, always, that the Dark Lord was right and he was proud to serve him…. And he really believed it, by then.

“How would that be different from if Dumbledore took—Mulciber. Fed him potions, worked spells on him, and forced him, compelled him, to want to serve him? To proclaim that the Order of the Phoenix had always been right. How would it be different?”

Lily opened her eyes with difficulty and regarded her husband. She shook her head numbly. There had to be a difference, a real difference. Was it that the Order was right independently of whatever Moody or Mulciber felt? Was that it? Wasn’t there a difference?

Severus whispered, “This is worse than the Imperius. At least with the Imperius there’s always a chance to rebel, to reclaim yourself, your true will. And if you do, you know that what you’d done before had been under coercion, not yourself. This—this could change your will, Lily.  Your true will. Lily, I can’t give it to either of them. So I have to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ash Wednesday, 2/24/82. The beginning of Lent. Preparation for the Passion.
> 
> From Psalm 51: Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.


	8. The Boy Who Lived:  March 7, 1982

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily discovers that Snape could instead have saved Harry

 

_“Now it is winter.”_

 

They would probably call March 7th Neville Longbottom Day.  There were fireworks and owls flying in all directions; witches and wizards were celebrating imprudently, wildly. 

Not all of them.

Lily sat silently, looking at her husband, who leaned against the wall looking only at his locked hands.  After a longish silence, she explained it to him.

“That’s why you still had some hope.  That one matter that he was focused on, until which you were fairly safe.  That’s why you hadn’t killed yourself already.  It wasn’t what I said. You thought that this would happen.”

He said nothing.

She informed him, “You said that you couldn’t have saved my baby.”

Severus stirred a little.  “I said… that there was nothing that I could have said that would have made the Dark Lord willing to spare him.”

Lily said scornfully, “That’s right; you never lie when an evasion will do.  That’s why you’re such a great Occlumens, such a great spy.” 

She stood, took a few paces, and turned abruptly, her red hair whipping behind her.  “You could have saved my baby.”

It wasn’t a question; Severus wasn’t fool enough to try to answer.

“How did you do it?  How did you save Neville Longbottom when you wouldn’t save my Harry?”

Severus regarded his clenched hands and explained, “I suggested to the Dark Lord that it would be—entertaining—to offer Alice Longbottom a choice:  to let her step aside and save herself while he killed her child.  You know that he loves torture; he thought that it would be an easy way to play with her before killing her.”

“Why would that work?”

Even now, Lily could be distracted by an intellectual puzzle.  His heart ached.  Severus gestured vaguely.  “If he made the mistake of giving her the choice, and she took it, that would make her death a formal self-sacrifice.  Which, historically, has been used to confer protection on others.  Especially kin.  The oldest, wildest death magic, dating back before the Sacred Kings.   _Maternal_ self-sacrifice, no less.  With unpredictable consequences.  I didn’t know for sure that it would work, but I guessed that it might.”

“So why didn’t you do that for me?” 

Severus would have had some hope if she had screamed it.  But her voice was dead.  This time, Lily would not be evaded.

His head bowed before her.   _Actually, I did?_ Let her know he was so weak he’d left the decision to chance, to the Dark Lord’s insanity?  Hardly.  

He looked at her bleakly.  “Because I couldn’t. You know why.”

_I couldn’t sign your death warrant, Lily.  Even though you would have asked me to._

What did she require him to say to her?  She knew it all already.

“So I’m alive instead of Harry. At least _you_ have what you wanted,” Lily spat.

He looked at her icy face. “Not quite,” Snape answered quietly. “I wanted you to live.”

“Very poetic,” she sneered.

_Not dead.  Only that._

Snape made his way to a chair and sat down, interlacing his fingers again to hide their shaking. “At least this turn of events means that we can put an end to this travesty. It was always Dumbledore’s intention that we should eventually drift apart. A marriage founded on the one side on puerile adolescent revenge fantasies and on the other on coerced responses could hardly be considered stable. There’s no longer any need to retain you either as cover for me or as brewster for the Dark Lord. What could be more natural than that, as things settle after the Dark Lord’s defeat and disappearance, some of the couples who married hastily in the war should find they were repenting? Everyone who said you were making a mistake would feel vindicated; your divorce would be considered a new cause for rejoicing among your friends. The timing is right.”

“Is the timing also right for you to leave your Hogwarts position, or does Dumbledore plan to retain your … services, Sev?”

He hesitated. “We have had no time to discuss that.” He cursed himself for not coming up with something stronger; Lily would instantly see that statement for the evasion that it was.

She grabbed Sev’s left wrist and Vanished his sleeve.  She examined his arm with eyes, fingers, and wand, and announced, “The Mark is inactive but not gone.  He’ll be back?”

“Maybe—but we don’t know—it might be years—Lily, please!”

_Please. Not dead.  Only that._

Lily smiled at him, green eyes darkened.  “If he’ll be back, we need to keep your cover.  So you can return to him as his spy.  Do you in truth think he will return, Severus?”

_La Belle Dame sans Merci._

Severus closed his eyes against the darkness.  When he could speak, he whispered, defeated, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s another quote I could have used as epigraph for this work: Jean-Paul Sartre, “L’enfer, c’est l’autre.”
> 
> I pulled 3/7 as Neville Longbottom Day out of a hat or my subconscious. So I thought I would change it, move it, to something ironic and appropriate from the Catholic Calendar: perhaps to the Feast of St. Joseph, also in March, the (chaste, according to Catholics) husband and protector of the Mother of our Savior. 
> 
> Then I looked at March 7th’s Saints. Felicity and Perpetua, martyrs under the emperor Septimus Severus. Matron saints of mothers who had been separated from their babies by war or persecution, of imprisoned mothers.
> 
> Naw, that had no relevance at all.


End file.
